A Nice Big Bang For Christmas
by PsandQs
Summary: Season 4 team in current-day political climate. Harry picks up rumours about a high-ranking MI6 officer and decides to probe deeper. The investigation has unexpected consequences and the team must race against the clock to prevent a catastrophe. Meanwhile, Harry makes overtures towards Ruth, but will the impact of the operation scupper any chance of a relationship?
1. Chapter 1

**PART I**

 _04 December  
London, the Grid_

"Your boss is a right bastard."  
It was, Ruth thought, some nerve on the part of her guest to make such a proclamation here on the Grid - the man in question's undisputed domain. And whilst sipping a cup of Ruth's tea to boot.  
"Harry's a good man," she countered immediately, her voice carefully neutral. It wouldn't do to alert this woman – or anyone else for that matter - to the high level of her regard for her boss. It was something she had, in fact, been extremely careful to also hide from herself. But it had become increasingly difficult. Even as she spoke the words her gaze involuntarily slipped to him. He was ensconced in his office, frowning at the file in front of him, a pair of earphones clamped on his head.  
"Hah!" the other woman said smugly, her bright beady eyes watching Ruth eagerly for a reaction, "You obviously don't know what he did to – and _with_ – Mary from Accounting."  
Ruth's full attention snapped back to her guest. "I'm not interested in gossip," she stated firmly, ignoring the hollow feeling that settled in her stomach.  
"Oh it's not gossip. Ellen _saw_ them. In the Executive bog."  
Ruth swallowed. He wouldn't. Not at work. Surely not. And with Mary from Accounting of all people. Tall, big-breasted, vivacious Mary with her low-cut tops. Mary who was everything that she was not. That cleavage would be at a convenient height for a man of Harry's stature-  
A shrill ringing interrupted her thoughts. The phone. Thank God. Ruth snatched it up swiftly, only for the last person she wished to speak to right then to murmur in her ear.  
"Ruth. A word in my office, if you would."  
Her gaze shifted back to the glass office and its occupant. "What, now?"  
Harry's eyes were locked on her. "Yes, now."  
He put the phone down without waiting for her answer, leaving her no choice but to obey.

0o0

He searched her face intently as she entered. She knew this even though she avoided direct eye contact; she was, by now, so attuned to him she could sense his attention as surely as she could feel her body's reaction to his presence.  
"Close the door," he instructed, and her eyes lifted to him then. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why, but his focus had redirected to her guest, and that provided an answer in itself.  
She closed the door.  
Harry stood and moved around the desk. When he finally came to a stop he was dangerously close to her. She could feel the heat of his arm next to her own. Did he stand this close to all his employees? She already knew the answer, and it scared and thrilled her in equal measure.  
"Don't defend me to that woman," he said into the charged atmosphere, and her head jerked up.  
"Why n- Wait, _what_?" Offence on his behalf had briefly dulled her wits, but it quickly turned to anger _at_ him once her brain caught up with the implications of his statement.  
"How do you know what we were talking about?" She looked stricken. "Are you eavesdropping on your team now? On _me_?"  
He returned his attention to her, alarmed by her tone of voice. "Of course not." His own voice dropped lower, to that intimate register he seemed to reserve only for her. "I trust you implicitly." He was watching her intently again, and it seemed important to him whether she actually believed him, so she nodded briefly, mollified. Until she remembered about Mary.

Harry tipped his head toward her desk and the plump woman still planted on the visitor's chair, rapidly making her way through a plate of ginger biscuits. "I'm eavesdropping on Mildred over there."  
Ruth frowned. "Millie? Why?" She was beginning to feel like a four year old; every second word out of her mouth seemed to be 'why'.  
Harry ignored her question. "Is she a friend of yours?" he asked instead and watched in morbid fascination as the woman shoved another biscuit in her mouth.  
"Er, no, not exactly." Ruth sighed as her last biscuit also disappeared. "She's a source of information. She always knows all the gossip from Six."  
"Hmm. And from Five, it seems," he responded, and she didn't dare to meet his eyes. Bloody _Mary_ from bloody _Accounting_ , of all people. Suddenly she was angry with him for a whole different reason.  
"You haven't answered my question," she persisted, becoming obstinate in her anger.  
Harry didn't say anything for long seconds, and she finally looked up to find him watching her with an unreadable expression. He only spoke once she met his eyes. "Mildred is Andrew Pilkington's secretary, and his mistress." He paused briefly, then added, "Well, one of several, actually."  
Ruth could not hide her surprise. This was news to her, but then Harry had a knack to obtain the dirty little secrets of people whose decisions he might need to influence at one stage or another. Pilkington was high up in MI6 and responsible for the Middle East, so he would be of obvious interest to the Head of Counter Terrorism. She wondered whether she could use this juicy piece of information to get more out of Millie herself when Harry continued.  
"Malcolm and Colin devised a little bug that fits into the ID card clips. It has an amazing range and the quality of the audio is surprisingly clear for such a small bug. Something to do with the metal the clip is made of apparently." This last bit of information was relayed with a hint of long-suffering weariness and Ruth suppressed a smile. She had no trouble picturing the long-winded lecture Harry was probably subjected to by the two techies on the subject. A few seconds ticked by before she realised she was gazing into his eyes. Or he was gazing into hers. Or both. Oh, bugger.  
She cleared her throat. "What's your interest in Pilkington?"  
Harry weighed his words carefully. "I've picked up some disturbing whispers about him," he finally settled on.  
"Are these whispers related to his over-active libido?"  
"No. There's something darker there, but I don't have any specifics yet."  
He waited as she processed this.  
"I've been making some discreet enquiries, but I suspect he may have got wind of my interest. Hence Mildred's presence here." He hesitated, then added almost regretfully, "I fear, Ruth, that this time you may be the one who's being pumped for information."

Ruth stood immobile, frozen in shock. Her immediate response was to deny it, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised he may be right. It was Millie who had suggested they have a cup of tea; who had swiftly offered to walk over the river this time. Who had made a shocking statement about Harry without any provocation. She huffed an angry laugh. "So what she said about you…?"  
"Not true," he said immediately, gently. "I've never even met, what was it, Margaret-?"  
"Mary."  
"-From Archives-"  
"Accounting."  
"-let alone engage in sexual shenanigans with her in a loo." He crinkled his nose in distaste. "Frankly, I believe that a lavatory should not be used for any other activity than the one it was designed for."  
She was smiling now. "Good to know," she murmured, trying to hide just how relieved she was. "So what do you want me to say to her?"  
He hesitated again and she looked at him curiously, to find him watching her intently again. He seemed almost apprehensive.  
"…You could always tell her that I called you in here to ask you to dinner."  
She cocked her head as she tried to figure out what he wanted to achieve by feeding Millie such a lie. "Why would I tell her that?"  
"…Because I am," he said quietly.

She stared at him. This couldn't be happening. Harry Pearce could not possibly be asking her out. Such things didn't happen to her – her dreams never actually came true. "I'm sorry?" she croaked, convinced that there was a catch, that this was somehow linked to Pilkington and not real at all. The words had barely left her mouth before another thought took hold: what if it _were_ real? Then she'd just given him a chance to backtrack, and more than anything she did not want him to do that.  
She should have known, though, that Harry was made of sterner stuff. Once he set his mind to something, he did not easily deviate until he had reached his goal, and it seemed that he had firmly set his sights on her. He stood his ground and repeated his invitation, albeit somewhat bashfully.  
"I'm asking whether you would like to have dinner with me, Ruth."  
It took a while to get her brain functioning sufficiently to formulate a coherent answer and she could see the panic gather in his eyes during her silence. When she finally got her voice working, her answer rushed out of her eagerly. "Yes. I'd love to have dinner. With you."

0o0

She walked back to Millie, careful to hide her elation. They'd settled on Friday evening and she had to fight hard not to smile at the thought. They had set a date. It was not just a vague promise for the future, but a definite date. In both senses of the word.  
"That looked cosy," Millie said the moment Ruth was close enough, and it burst the bubble immediately.  
She let her annoyance show. "Harry becomes very charming when he wants me to pick up his dry-cleaning for him," she explained curtly, and out of the corner of her eye saw him smirk appreciatively at her performance. Life was very good at that particular moment.

0o0

 _Same day, 22:48  
London Industrial Park, Eastbury Road_

The Pakistani looked at his watch again. The truck was late. Very late. Any change in the normal routine made him extremely uncomfortable, and he wondered whether something had gone wrong at the Tunnel crossing. His contact had assured him that everything was taken care of, but you never knew – it took only one overzealous Customs official to scupper months of careful planning. His breath misted in the yellow light of the street lamps and he stuffed his hands back into his pockets. The temperature was dropping with every minute that passed and he wondered if it was going to snow later. It was then that he heard the distant droning of an engine. His hand automatically went to the butt of the pistol shoved in the waistband at his back, and stayed there until he saw the truck turn into the Industrial Park and lumber towards him. There was only one person in the cab and he relaxed slightly. He moved over to the warehouse wall and hit the switch to open the large doors, and the truck moved straight past him and into the cavernous empty space inside. He let the door down again and moved around the truck to the cab, just as the man inside jumped down and stretched his back gratefully.  
"Whew! Wozzit, Wasim," he greeted and the Pakistani nodded curtly.  
"You're late," he complained, observing the heavily tattooed man coldly.  
"Ah fuck off," the driver said good-naturedly as he moved towards the trailer doors. "Had a tyre blow-out just before Dunkirk."

He opened the doors to reveal stacks and stacks of fabric. "There you go, the very best Syria has to offer," he said with a sly wink as a few other men materialised from the back of the warehouse and began to unload.  
"Any problems?" Wasim queried as the men proceeded to stack the rolls of fabric against the walls.  
"Nah. One bloke got a bit curious at the German border, but his superior called him off before he could cause a real problem. We may have to reconsider going through there again, though."  
Wasim nodded absently. The last roll had been removed and he jumped into the back. The driver joined him and together they unscrewed the metal plate at the back of the trailer and laid it down flat. It revealed a hidden door with a heavy padlock, which Wasim unlocked with a key worn on string around his neck. He could feel the driver's hot breath against the back of his neck.  
"We got a particularly lovely load this time," he said, leering over Wasim's shoulder. "Any time you need help to sample the goods, I'm available."  
The Pakistani spun around and jammed the gun into the driver's stomach. "If you ever touch the goods, Johnny, I will kill you," he hissed, and the driver took a step back, fear in his eyes.  
Wasim slid open the door and shone a flashlight into the small chamber beyond, running a critical eye over the five dark-haired women cowering inside.

 _tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**PART II**

 _Friday 08 December  
The Grid_

Ruth looked on fondly as her colleagues laughed and chatted with each other. They were in the meeting room waiting for Harry, and the upcoming festive period seemed to have buoyed everyone's mood already. Jo watched in bemusement as Adam and Zaf ribbed each other mercilessly as to who would be the better option to try and entrap a good-looking female target, with Fiona raising tongue-in-cheek objections to both on the unfortunate woman's behalf. Colin and Malcolm, meanwhile, debated the pros and cons of the Christmas cakes on offer at the various food chains. All of this resulted in a rather raucous atmosphere by the time Harry swept in.

He eyed the chaos with some dismay until his gaze fell on Ruth, an oasis of calm in the midst of it all. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, a slight blush tinging her cheeks. Both were momentarily transported a few hours ahead, wondering what the evening would bring. No-one else noticed.  
"All right!" Harry barked as he took his seat, and they settled down. He waited until all eyes were fixed on him. "I see that festive fever has already infected the Grid. By all means get into the spirit of the season and enjoy yourselves. Let us not forget, however, that no self-respecting zealot would let the enemy's most holy period pass without at least an attempt to spread misery and death. So. I urge continued vigilance, and to this end there must be at least two officers on duty at any particular time as from the twentieth, including Christmas Day and New Year's." He looked round the table at the suddenly glum faces without remorse. "I'll let you fight it out amongst yourselves, but I want the schedule on my desk by the end of the day. Anything else?"  
Everyone shook their heads.  
"Right then," he said and stood. "Into the breach once more."

Zaf waited until he was out of earshot before he broke the silence. "Is it me, or was that the same speech he gave us about the Christian militants before Ramadan?"  
Adam grinned. "Harry's an equal-opportunity pessimist."  
Ruth smiled and looked down at her hands.  
Jo shook her head. "He must be a ray of sunshine over the festive holidays," she said, and was surprised by the look she received from Ruth.  
"He's not so bad," Fiona responded. "Last year he actually wore the reindeer hat he got in the gift swap at the Christmas party."  
"Yes," Adam chimed in, "he doesn't mind us enjoying ourselves as long as the work gets done. And he's right." He gave them all a pointed look. "I don't want any nasty surprises, so I want every tree shaken in the next few days. Let's make sure that we don't miss anything."  
They all nodded. "Right. As for Christmas Day and New Year's – traditionally the newbies are on duty, so Zaf, Jo, sorry, that'll be you two."  
Zaf accepted the announcement philosophically – he'd been around long enough to know how it worked. Jo's face, however, fell immediately. "I was going to visit my Mum on Christmas," she mumbled, but Adam was unmoved.  
"She can visit _you_ here in London. You don't have to be in the office on those days, just able to get here bloody quick if the doo-doo hits the fan."  
Jo said nothing further, although her expression indicated that she wasn't happy at all. But she was too new, still too unsure of her position and the dynamics in her new work environment to argue.

Ruth took pity on her. "I'll take the Christmas Day shift," she offered, and Jo beamed at her gratefully. Ruth smiled back. The gesture was not quite as magnanimous as it might appear to the others, though. Harry would also be on duty – he always was – and perhaps, after their date, there would be an opportunity for them to be on duty together.  
Adam observed her speculatively. "You were on duty last year as well, Ruth, you really don't need-"  
"I don't mind," she overrode him, then added, "I don't have anything planned anyway." The statement was calculated, a strategy to put Adam off his stride, and it worked.  
He smiled at her sympathetically. "Okay. So it's settled then. Zaf and Ruth will take Christmas Day."  
As they dispersed, Ruth treasured the thought that she might finally get the chance to find out how Harry liked to spend his Christmas.

0o0

 _Newham, London_

Zaf wandered down the street, stopping occasionally to look into the shop windows and to check his tail. This area of London had a high concentration of Pakistani immigrants and he blended in well. But still, one could not be too careful. The asset he had come to see was a valuable one, and he did not want to blow him by being careless. When he was sure that he was clean, he walked two more blocks until he reached the shop. The words 'Farooq's Fabrics' were emblazoned on the window in big garish letters, with the slogan 'Best quality in the Capital' underneath. Zaf looked into the interior and saw only three people move about. He pushed open the door and an alarm chimed somewhere in the back. A man moved towards him immediately with the sparkling smile of an experienced salesman.  
"Welcome, sir, welcome! What can I offer you today?"  
Zaf looked around him vaguely. "I'm getting married soon," he confided, "and my future wife wants to use traditional fabric for her dress. I've looked everywhere, but these traditional fabrics cost an arm and a leg. I wondered if you might have anything more suited to my pay-scale."  
The salesman smiled sympathetically and tapped his nose. "I think I may have just the thing. If you would come into the back?"

Zaf followed the man through a door and found himself in a large storage room, stacked to the rafters with rolls of fabric. The salesman moved to a bank of monitors set in the wall and swiftly checked that there was no-one else in the back before he turned to Zaf.  
"Clear."  
Zaf nodded, but kept his voice low anyway. "How are things, Farooq?"  
"Good. Business is booming."  
Zaf took in the stacks of fabric without comment. "You said you had something for me?"  
Farooq nodded. "Come look at this," he said and led the way to the back of the room. He stopped by some rolls of fabric. "Feel this," he invited and rubbed the material between two fingers.  
Zaf looked at his watch, annoyed. "I don't want to buy any damn fabric, Farooq. Get to the point."  
The salesman was still fingering the fabric. "This fabric _is_ the point. Feel it."  
Zaf sighed and obliged, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. "Cotton," he stated and Farooq nodded.  
"The finest cotton you will ever find, smuggled in from Syria."  
Zaf's interest was piqued. "Smuggled?"  
"Oh yes. This fabric is only made by government-owned factories. And as you know, there are sanctions against trading with the Syrian government."  
"Yeah. So how did you come to have it?"  
Farooq's voice dropped even lower. "There's this white-trash tosser I met some months ago. Name of Johnny, truck driver. He boasted he was running a smuggling operation out of Syria and could get me these. I said sure. I thought he was just a big-mouth, but two days ago he shows up with the fabric."

Zaf absorbed the information. Smuggling was not exactly MI5's problem. "There's more to it, isn't there?"  
Farooq looked solemn. "Yes. The bloke was proper scared. Made me swear I wouldn't tell a soul where I'd got it. Turns out he's not actually running the operation – he's just the guy who drives the truck. Seems he's been ripping off his employers for some time now, and he says they'll kill him if they find out."  
"I still don't see why this sad tale should interest me," Zaf began, but Farooq made a just-wait motion and continued.  
"Fabric is not the only thing being smuggled. The most important product is women."  
"Human trafficking?" Zaf said in disgust.  
"Yes. And sexual slavery. The women are used as entertainment at parties for the rich and influential - I don't think they're volunteering. Johnny says the racket must be protected from the very top; he's done more than ten runs and his truck has never been searched at the border crossings. Not once." Farooq grabbed Zaf's arm. "And Zaf, the truck isn't empty when it goes to Syria either. Johnny claims he gets the goods in exchange for weapons he takes there. Weapons supplied by the British government."  
Zaf tried not to show how disturbed he was by this information. "You have any names?"  
"Just one. The only person Johnny has contact with is a Pakistani named Wasim."  
"That doesn't exactly narrow it down."  
"No, I know. I think your best bet is to get to Johnny. He told me he has lots of evidence. Photos of the girls, and of the high and mighties at the parties."

0o0

 _Friday evening_

Harry was nervous. It was ridiculous at his age, but there it was. He was really nervous as he sat in the back of the car on the way to Ruth's house. He wished that he did not have to have his security officer with him tonight, but due to the current threat level he had no choice. He just hoped this did not put Ruth off. He still could not believe his luck that she had said yes. And hopefully this would be the first of many dates. The thought made him smile. It was his first date in- actually, he couldn't recall the last time. Clearly it had not been particularly memorable. This one would be different, he somehow knew. This one he would not forget for as long as he lived. They pulled up in front of her house and he got out to ring the bell. As he straightened his jacket he wondered whether he looked too stuffy in his blue shirt and dark blazer. Perhaps he should have gone for something more informal? But when she opened the door and he saw how beautiful she looked, all other thought took flight. He smiled at her, absurdly happy. "You look lovely, Ruth."

0o0

"Does it not bother you? All these rumours they're spreading about your supposed conquests?"  
They had had a lovely dinner, during which they had covered numerous topics. The conversation flowed easily after they had both got over the worst of their nerves, and this pleased him. After the second glass of white burgundy she had even relaxed enough to gently tease him about his inelegant approach to asking her out. Hence her latest question.  
"No," he said, thinking that would be the last of it, but she was not satisfied.  
"Why not?"  
"Because they don't know the half of what I _have_ done," he said glibly, before he noted her shocked expression. "Er, professionally speaking, of course," he added hastily, but she would not be appeased.  
"How can it not bother you?" she persisted, her fingers toying with the stem of the wine glass.  
The question surprised him and he looked at her more closely. She seemed genuinely upset and he sobered and considered his next answer more carefully.  
"No-one likes to be gossiped about. But you can't control it. Even if there is nothing for people to gossip about they will fabricate something anyway. The one lesson I have learnt in life is that I cannot afford to brood about the things I can't control." He almost reached across the table to take her hand but stopped himself in time. "There are very few people whose opinion about me matters, and as long as those chosen few believe me to be a good man, that is enough for me. The rest is just noise."  
He was gazing at her again, and she gazed right back, for once in her life not caring whether anyone might be watching. It was a good feeling, a freeing feeling, and she embraced it. She realised right then that she was lost, that she could no longer deny it to herself. She adored him, and she wanted many more evenings like these with him. Apparently his thoughts had gone in much the same direction.  
"Can we do this again?" he asked as he topped up their glasses one last time, and she nodded immediately, giddily.

And then his phone rang.

 _tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**PART III**

 _Friday evening  
Restaurant in London_

Harry hesitated, and for some reason this made her happy. She had always expected him to put the job above everything else, but perhaps...  
"Answer it," she encouraged, "it may be important."  
He nodded and lifted the phone to his ear. "Yes."  
After listening for half a minute his eyebrows rose and he looked at Ruth. "I'll be there in twenty minutes." He disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket, still looking at her. "I'm afraid we'll have to cut the evening short – that was Commander Brown from the Met."  
It was Ruth's turn to raise her eyebrows. "From the Special Unit dealing with sensitive cases?"  
"The very same. A man has been murdered, and they found some interesting documents. Brown was adamant that I would want to see them before anyone else does."  
Ruth waited, but he did not elaborate. "Well then," she said eventually, "I had a lovely evening, Harry."  
"Me too," he said, his expression ever so gentle.  
She could feel herself start to blush. "I'll, er, I'll take a cab home."  
Harry just looked at her, and she could see her own feelings reflected in his eyes; he too did not want the evening to end just yet. "No. Come with me," he said instead, and she looked at him in surprise. She had certainly not expected that.  
"It shouldn't take too long, and we can move on somewhere else afterwards. Have coffee, or another drink. Whatever you would like." His enthusiasm gathered momentum as he spoke and she almost said yes immediately. Until she remembered that other people would see them there. Together.  
"Harry… I don't think-" she began, but he was in a bullish mood.  
"You are my analyst, Ruth, you have every right to be there," he overrode her.  
She shook her head, somewhat exasperated. It was obvious from their attire that they were not coming from the office, and anyone who saw them would immediately draw the – correct – conclusion that they had been on an evening out. But his enthusiasm was infectious, and she really did not want the night to end just yet. What could possibly go wrong?  
"All right."

0o0

 _Hounslow, London_

It wasn't difficult to find the scene of the crime. The blue light rhythmically bouncing off the walls was a give-away, as was the high number of uniformed officers standing around outside one of the tenement buildings. Harry showed his badge to one of them before lifting the police tape and waving Ruth through. A man in plain clothes spotted them and came over.  
"Harry."  
"Mark."  
The two men shook hands and Harry turned to Ruth. "Commander Brown – Ruth Evershed," he introduced, and the policeman nodded at Ruth. He showed no surprise at her presence and Ruth relaxed. He led them to a mobile Incident Room as he filled them in.  
"Man by the name of Johnny Cook was shot three times as he stepped out of that door there onto the street. There were three eye witnesses. The shots came from a parked car that was either blue, green or red, which sped off afterwards in a northerly direction. No-one got a number plate." The Commander showed no annoyance at the inattentiveness of the general public, and Ruth surmised that he must have seen more than his fair share of conflicting statements in his career.  
Harry looked up and down the street. "No cameras," he noted to no-one in particular and the Commander nodded.  
"I'm guessing that's why they were so brazen about it."  
They stepped into the Incident Room. "Give me the room," Brown said and the other officers immediately cleared out.  
"The victim had a flat on the third floor and the place had been ransacked by the time we got here. However, he had a safety box key on his person and we traced it to a train station two blocks away. Inside we found this."  
He lifted a locked case onto a table and opened it with a four-digit code. Inside were stacks of photographs. Harry took some of them and began to leaf through. They mostly contained men captured in various compromising positions with dark-haired, dark-eyed women. All of the men were instantly recognisable public figures.  
"Christ," Harry muttered as Ruth, looking over his shoulder, gasped.  
"Is that…?"  
"The Foreign Secretary," he confirmed.

0o0

"What are you going to do with those?" Ruth asked as they walked back to the car.  
Harry said nothing, but flipped through the photos again until he found the one he wanted and showed it to her.  
"Andrew Pilkington," she said. "You think this somehow ties in with the rumours you heard about him?"  
"I do," he responded. "And I would like to know more before I do anything. So let's keep the existence of these photographs to ourselves for now, yes?"  
She nodded, and then she froze.  
Harry realised she was no longer next to him and stopped too, looking at her questioningly. Her eyes were fixed on someone standing a little way down the street, between them and the car.  
"Zafar," he said in consternation, and looked back at Ruth. He could practically see the exact moment that she decided that this whole evening had been a mistake – that _they_ were a mistake.  
"Ruth-" he began, but did not know what to say to her.  
"What's he doing here?" she asked accusingly, and Harry bristled in response.  
" _I_ didn't call him," he snapped, before he forced himself to calm down. "It's not that important if he sees us together, is it?"  
She laughed disbelievingly and shook her head at his apparent naivety. "If Zaf knows, the whole of London will know within the hour, Harry."  
He opened his mouth, but before he could get out the words 'so what' she pushed past him and strode towards their younger colleague. And perhaps that was for the better, he reflected as he followed more slowly.

Zaf awaited their arrival with barely controlled glee. "Ruth… and Harry. What are you guys doing here?" The 'together' remained unspoken but hung in the air between them anyway.  
Harry did not dare look at Ruth. "I was about to ask you the same thing, Zafar." When backed into a corner, he only knew one response – attack. He glared at the younger man, who looked straight back with feigned innocence. Ruth shifted restlessly from one foot to the other next to him.  
Zaf was the first to back down; he might be brash but he knew when not to push his luck. Only Adam ever dared to challenge Harry when he was in this sort of mood. "I was hoping to have a word with a bloke called Johnny Cook. He lives in that apartment block over there."  
Harry absorbed this information. Coincidence? He did not believe in those. "You are about three hours too late," he informed Zaf bluntly. "Johnny Cook met with an untimely demise at the hand of an unidentified gunman." He waited a beat but Zaf did not say anything in response, merely looked thoughtful. "What is your interest in the deceased?"  
Zaf succinctly briefed them on the information he received from his asset, and as he mentioned the photographic evidence his eyes went to the envelope in his boss' hand. Harry and Ruth exchanged a glance.  
"Okay," Harry said crisply once Zaf had finished. "Leave it with me for now; do nothing until Monday. We'll discuss the matter further then."  
Zaf lifted an eyebrow and his gaze flitted between Harry and Ruth. It was obvious what he thought the reason for Harry's order was and Harry could sense Ruth lean away from him even further. He clenched his jaw as anger surged through him at the impertinence of the young officer, but rather than compound matters with an explanation that would no doubt sound like a lame excuse he marched past Zaf and towards his waiting car. "Goodnight, Zaf."  
It was a curt dismissal that Zaf could not miss. He looked at Ruth, still rooted to the same spot mutely, and for the first time registered her acute embarrassment. The cheeky comment he was about to make never made it past his lips and instead he smiled gently at her. "Goodnight, Ruth. Enjoy your weekend." As he turned away he glimpsed her horrified expression and realised belatedly how his innocent remark might have sounded. Cursing himself he beat a hasty retreat so as to spare her from making any response.

As he turned the corner he glanced back to see Harry hold the door open for her and offer his hand to help her into the car, but she stiffly ignored the proffered hand and got in without assistance. Harry closed the door carefully after her and walked around the car, his shoulders slumped.  
Zaf swallowed. "Shit," he mumbled, aware that he may just have put himself squarely in his boss' bad books.

0o0

The drive back to Ruth's house was painfully awkward. Harry glanced at her numerous times and twice he seemed on the verge of saying something, but in the end he kept his peace. She stared determinedly out the window, unable to meet his eyes. It had been a mistake; she should never have said yes. Now everyone would know, and they would think that she was trying to sleep her way towards a promotion, and they would laugh at her naivety. They would allude to Harry's chequered past and pity her for thinking that he was interested in anything else but a few shags. Thankfully they pulled up in front of her house before she could tie herself even further into knots. She had the door open before the car had properly come to rest, not giving Harry the chance to get round and open it for her. All she wanted was to get inside and close the door behind her, preferably without having to face him. It was cowardly and unfair, but she did not know any other way.

Harry, however, had other ideas. He was a short step behind her up the path, and came to a stop close to her as she searched her bag for her keys at the door.  
"Ruth…" he began, and faltered.  
She took a shaky breath but still did not turn to face him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I can't do this. I can't be the topic of gossip for the whole office. And it'll undermine your authority, too. Sorry," she repeated, finally dragging her keys from her bag.  
As she reached for the lock Harry's hand closed around hers, warm and gentle, and she froze. She looked up into his eyes and saw hurt, and anger, and determination.  
"It's just noise," he said softly.  
She began to shake her head and he continued more forcefully. "I don't give a damn about my authority. All I care about is that tonight was wonderful, and I would like to do it again."  
She shook her head more determinedly and withdrew her hand from his. "I can't, Harry," she insisted, but the key rattled loudly as she put it in the lock.  
"Goodnight," she almost whispered and stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind her.  
He stood on the doorstep for long seconds before she finally heard his footsteps move away.  
She closed her eyes and fought back the tears.

0o0

 _Friday evening  
Harry's house_

The photographs were strewn across the dining table and he sat staring at them. The Tchaikovsky playing in the background perfectly illustrated his stormy thoughts, and the display of human depravity before him did nothing to improve his mood. The women were clearly unwilling participants and it repulsed him, and he reached for the tumbler of whisky at his elbow and downed the remaining liquid. After a moment he slowly put his finger on the photograph of Pilkington and drew it towards him. He reached for his mobile and fought the impulse to call her, to argue their case once more. Instead he selected another number and waited, his fingers drumming on the table top. When it was answered he said without preamble, "We have to talk. About Pilkington. Tomorrow at nine. The usual place."  
He put down the phone and looked at Pilkington's photograph again, before sweeping them all to the floor in a sudden fit of fury.

 _tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

**PART IV**

 _Monday 11 December  
The Grid_

Ruth was early in getting to work. Even earlier than usual, in the hope of getting to her desk and being too busy for chitchat by the time the others got there. And still Harry was there before her. He was in his office, stood behind his desk whilst he talked on the phone, his eyes fixed on her from the moment she stepped through the pods. The distance between them was too great to read the subtleties in his expression, but she thought his face softened and he almost smiled at her, before he stopped himself. His gaze followed her all the way to her desk before he turned away and gave his full attention to the phone again.

She sighed. She'd had a horrible weekend, second-guessing her decision and almost calling him on countless occasions. A few times she'd even picked up the phone, but then Zaf's gleeful face would pop up before her eyes and she would put it down again. Ruth furtively watched him over her monitor as she switched on her computer; he looked tired and frustrated. She tried to tell herself that it was because of the Pilkington case, but deep down she knew it was more than that. The pods whirred and her attention shifted to it to see Malcolm struggling through with a mangled umbrella. He glanced round the workspace until he spotted her.  
"Morning. Beastly weather," he complained amiably as he finally won his battle with the umbrella and tucked it under his arm.  
Ruth watched him closely but there were no knowing looks, no increased interest towards her. Perhaps Zaf had not yet informed everyone then. But still she could not relax; he would do so eventually and then it would begin. The endless whispers.

0o0

By the time they had gathered in the meeting room for the nine o'clock weekly briefing, Ruth was sure that everyone knew. The air was thick with a suppressed excitement and many a sly glance was cast her way. She hunched her shoulders and stared at the table, and wished that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. A few minutes later Harry stepped in and took his seat, and immediately a hush fell as every eye in the room watched eagerly for some sort of interaction between their boss and analyst. Without any apparent sign that he had noticed the charged atmosphere, Harry looked to Zaf.  
"Zafar, brief everyone on what you found out on Friday."  
There was a stunned silence and Ruth's gaze, till then firmly focussed on the paper in front of her, flew to Harry in shock. His attention was on the file in his hand, oblivious. She looked at Zaf in consternation; he had a huge grin on his face and for a moment she feared he would actually do it – he would say out loud that he had seen her and Harry together. But then Adam lightly cleared his throat and gave Zaf a warning look, and the younger spook shrugged slightly and began a detailed description of his conversation with his asset. Once all attention was on Zaf, Harry lifted his eyes and briefly glanced at Ruth before dropping them back to the file.

When Zaf had finished, Harry shuffled some papers and brought out a stack of photographs that he passed around. He continued the briefing. "The truck driver was shot on Friday evening. They found these photographs in a safety deposit box belonging to him. It seems he had reason to be afraid."  
Adam whistled. "Talk about a gallery of the high and mighty," he exclaimed as he passed the last photograph back to Harry, who carefully deposited them back into the file.  
"Exactly," he confirmed. "And if any of them found out that the late Mr Cook had been sneaking around with his camera they would have been tempted to silence him."  
"Not to mention the people he had been ripping off," Zaf added.  
"Yes. We have a whole gaggle of suspects," Harry agreed.  
Jo frowned. "Is it really our concern who killed this truck driver?" she asked, looking to Adam. "Or dealing with human trafficking? I thought we were supposed to deal with terror threats."  
Adam looked at Harry. "She has a point."  
"Yes. Distressing as those women's plight is, it is not really our concern."  
Fiona opened her mouth but Harry held up a hand. "However, there is a wider scope to this that concerns me. First of all, there is the existence of an unsupervised smuggling route between the UK and Syria. What – or who - else have they brought in via this route? Secondly, who supplies the weapons going to Syria? Is this action secretly authorised by the government? Not impossible, short-sighted and ill-conceived though it may be."  
Ruth couldn't help herself. "And by strengthening Assad's regime, we are fomenting further unrest in Syria and increasing the refugee numbers. And the hate towards Britain among the Muslim communities."  
"Precisely," Harry confirmed. "Not to mention the fact that all these prominent men," he tapped the folder with the photographs, "have opened themselves up to blackmail. God knows what some of them might be willing to do to protect their dirty little secret."  
He looked round the table. "This will be a sensitive operation. We will have to tread extremely lightly, because if there is government backing for this our investigation will be shut down faster than you can blink, and some of us hung out to dry to boot. There must be no discussion with anyone outside of this Section, and no rash moves."  
They all absorbed the warning silently. There was no need for verbal affirmation; Harry's word was law.

"So how do we proceed?" Fiona asked.  
Adam looked at Zaf. "We need to identify this Wasim chap."  
"Easier said than done," Zaf countered. "There will be thousands of Pakistanis named Wasim in England. Plus, we don't even know whether it's his real name."  
"This may help," Harry said and fished in his file once more. He produced a photograph of a man standing in front of a warehouse, clearly taken from a distance. "It's the only photograph in here of a fully clothed individual, and it may be our man." He slid it over to Colin. "See if you can identify him."  
The techie nodded and gathered the photo.  
"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, and Adam took a moment to order his thoughts.  
"If we can put Wasim under surveillance we could identify his government contact-"  
"No," Harry said immediately. "Too risky. No surveillance."  
Adam frowned but let it go for the time being. "All right. They will need a new truck driver, obviously. We could try to get a man in." He turned to Zaf. "You have a heavy vehicle license, right?"  
"Yep." He smiled at Jo's incredulous look. "Misspent youth," he whispered and winked at her.  
Harry digested this suggestion. "I would prefer that we allow them to choose their driver, and then get to him."  
"Or her," Fiona interjected and Harry rolled his eyes.  
"Or her," he corrected reluctantly and the others smiled.  
"Yeah, that could work," Adam agreed. "Let the original driver go into Syria and pick up the goods, then we take a look inside once the truck comes back into friendly territory."  
"I'll ask my asset to keep his ears open – he uses a lot of transport companies so maybe he'll pick up something," Zaf volunteered.  
"Good," Adam stated. He looked at Harry. "But that won't bring us any closer to identifying the government contact."

Harry glanced at Ruth. "I already have a good idea who that might be," he said casually. He opened his file again and removed a sheet of paper. "Malcolm, these are the bank account numbers of Andrew Pilkington. Can you take a look at his finances without him realising?"  
"Of course," Malcolm responded as Adam stared at his boss.  
"You think it's Pilkington?"  
Harry was silent for a beat. "Not 'think'. Know."  
"How?" Adam demanded, but Harry merely set his jaw.  
"Not your concern. Now, what else-"  
"So we're just supposed to take your word for it?" Adam asked incredulously.  
Harry glared at him and the others shifted in their seats. "Yes, Adam, you are to take my word for it." He enunciated every word individually, precisely, and Ruth lifted her eyes to him. Perhaps he was aware of the sniggers and whispers about them, after all. He was clearly not as serene as he had let them think thus far.  
"You and Ruth," Harry continued, and Ruth jumped at the sound of her name. Everyone noticed, and Harry blinked wearily. "You and Ruth go through these mobile phone records," he instructed and slid over a sheaf of print-outs. "Those are the records of all his phones. Including the unofficial ones. I want to know who he's talking to on a regular basis, especially those that are not in the photographs as well."  
Ruth leafed through the pile. "There're five phones' records here," she said incredulously. So that's what he'd done over the weekend. "How did you get these records so quickly?"  
Harry watched her for just a breath longer than he should, and once again they all noticed. "I called in some favours," he said enigmatically, and she knew it was the only explanation she would get, at least in front of the rest. She stacked the papers neatly without further comment, and Harry looked around the table one more time.  
"Anything else?"  
"Yes," Fiona leant forward. "Those women must be kept somewhere. I still have some contacts in the Syrian immigrant community – I can probe a bit and see if I can find out where they are."  
They all expected their boss to veto this idea as too risky as well, but Harry, mindful of the empty eyes of the women in those photographs, surprisingly nodded agreement.  
"Do it carefully," he cautioned again before getting to his feet.  
Ruth didn't move until he disappeared from view, but her gaze followed him for as long as possible. She gathered her things with a small sigh and trudged after the others.

0o0

Malcolm had barely reached his cubbyhole and settled behind his computer when Harry materialised.  
"Malcolm, when you do the check on Pilkington's finances, can you do it in such a way that he realises someone is looking, but that he can't trace it back to us?"  
The techie stared at him, surprised by the strange request. "Er, sure, but I thought you said we should be careful not to alert anyone…?"  
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Harry responded mysteriously, before wandering back to his own office.  
Malcolm looked after him, bemused, then shrugged and began to do Harry's bidding.

0o0

 _Monday evening  
Kensington Gardens_

Wasim strolled along the path, now and again pausing in the darkness between the street lamps to check his tail. He was sure he was not being followed, but one had to be sure. His contact would be most displeased if he led the authorities to him. Eventually he turned from the path towards a bench situated in the shadows of a huge oak. Its wide-stretching branches blocked not only the sun during the day, but also the light that ensured London was never totally dark during the night. A man was already seated on one end and Wasim murmured a respectful greeting, then settled himself on the other.  
He waited; patience came more easily to non-Westerners and he did not fidget.  
Eventually the other man broke the silence. "You acted foolishly." There was no need for further explanation – both men knew exactly what he was referring to.  
"He was stealing from us," Wasim retorted, but he made sure to keep his voice low.  
"That is immaterial," the other man shot back. "Your rash action has brought the attention of the authorities to us. You may have jeopardised everything we have worked for."  
"How?" Wasim objected. "There is nothing to connect him to us. I made sure of that. And besides, our contacts will warn us of any unwanted attention."  
The man turned his head and his eyes glinted in the muted light. "You underestimate the British – they are not as stupid as you think. Let us hope they don't make the connection before we can bring in the final load." He stood and looked down at Wasim. "But if they do, you better hope they get to you first. Because whatever they will do to you will be child's play compared to the fruits of my wrath."  
With that final threat he melted away into the night, leaving Wasim to ponder the precariousness of his future.

 _tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

**PART V**

 _Thursday 14 December  
The Grid_

Ruth scurried into the meeting room with her arms full of files, and Harry experienced a flash of nostalgia so strong he had to take a steadying breath. They continued to function in this undefined limbo they had found themselves in since Friday evening, and he did not know what to do to change things. He had tried to talk to her a number of times, but she had rebuffed him on every occasion. With some regret, he thought, and that gave him hope. But he could not find the right words to get through to her and that frustrated him. He didn't want to bully her into capitulation so he didn't push, just made sure that she knew he wasn't giving up. Some days he found it more difficult than others, like today. He had the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her, or even better, _kiss_ some sense into her. He shook himself mentally and focussed on the matter at hand. "Let's keep this brief; I have to see the Home Secretary shortly."  
Her eyes flicked to him and he knew that she had no illusions about the reason behind his tetchiness. She was better than most at reading him and normally he found that comforting, but not now. Now, it just meant that he couldn't fool her about the level of his adoration for her, and he found that somewhat humiliating in the face of her refusal to give them a chance.

She spread her files haphazardly across the table and looked up, a spark of excitement in her eyes. "These are all the people Pilkington contacted regularly on his various mobiles. We've been able to separate them into the following categories: lovers, political contacts, assets, and unknowns." She pointed to the relevant piles as she listed them.  
Adam took over. "We discarded all those that were obviously linked to legitimate MI6 business or family matters. The political contacts are of specific interest."  
He nodded at Ruth and she continued. "First, the Foreign Secretary. Pilkington contacts him on two different phones – the one he mainly uses to organise the parties with those poor women, and another one he seems to be using for Black Ops purposes."  
Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "So presumably the Foreign Secretary is playing some role in the agreement to provide weapons to Syria in exchange for the women."  
Adam nodded. "We think so too, especially given the other two people contacted regularly on the Black Ops phone."  
"There's Gordon McGreary from Armscorp," Ruth said and forgot not to look at Harry in her excitement.  
He leant back in his chair, arms folded, and tapped a finger against his lips absently. "The arms manufacturer with the biggest government contract at the moment. Now that is interesting," he mused.  
Ruth hummed her agreement. "And secondly…Juliet Shaw," she announced triumphantly.  
An excited murmur ran around the table until it reached Harry, where it abruptly stopped. He showed no reaction whatsoever to this bombshell, and Ruth stared at him, perplexed. This changed to complete confusion at his next words.  
"You can discount Juliet."

Adam was the first to recover. " _What_?!"  
"Don't waste valuable time on Juliet; focus on the others," Harry reiterated, and Adam looked at him incredulously.  
"Why?"  
"Because I say so," Harry responded shortly, but Adam was not easily intimidated.  
"Not good enough, Harry. This is not the time to protect your old paramours."  
Someone gasped, possibly Jo, and every eye in the room went to Ruth. Including Harry's. She had gone very pale as she stared at the file in front of her, and Harry finally lost his tenuous grip on his temper.  
"For God's sake!" he shouted and slammed a hand down on the table, and a startled silence settled over the meeting. Even Ruth looked up at him in consternation.  
"Do _not_ question my orders!" He glared at Adam. The Section Chief glared back, unwilling to back down.  
Fiona deemed it prudent to intervene before Adam could put his foot even deeper in it. "I may have a lead on the location of the women by tomorrow – one of my contacts asked for a meeting; she didn't want to talk over the phone. I'm going to see her this afternoon."  
Harry took a breath and made a visible effort to calm down. "Good. Colin, how are we doing on the mysterious Wasim?"  
"I think I've got him," the techie responded and grabbed the remote to turn on the display screen. "That is, if the man in the picture actually is the man we're looking for." He brought up a passport page with the man in question's photograph. It identified him as Wasim Butt from Pakistan. "He entered Britain for the first time ten years ago on a work visa, and he's been here ever since."  
"Okay." Harry looked at Ruth. "Can we have a look at him; see if we can link him to Pilkington?"  
She nodded and made a note, back to avoiding direct eye contact and his heart constricted.  
"Malcolm, any progress on the financial records?"  
"Uh, not much so far. I've managed to get access to his local account, but that's all above board. However, he's made some large money transfers to an undisclosed offshore account, and I'm still tracking those. He knows his stuff – the money has been bounced from one account to another at least five times before reaching the final destination. I've cracked two so far, but it takes time due to the extensive security measures banks have in place."  
Harry gathered his papers. "Keep at it, and keep me informed of developments. I have to see the Home Secretary." He left without looking at anyone, and Ruth followed in similar fashion shortly after.  
Once she was out of earshot Fiona looked at Adam and shook her head in exasperation.  
"What?" he asked defensively.  
"Sometimes you have the tact of an inebriated politician," she sighed, before following the others out.

0o0

Even as she worked, part of Ruth's mind kept turning over the events of the last few days. Specifically, everything to do with her and Harry. She kept going back to their date; to their easy conversation, to the way he'd looked at her. As though she was the most interesting and alluring person he had ever met. And to the way that had made her feel – happy and cherished. Then there was Harry's mood the last few days; he was more affected by her decision than she had expected. It would seem that she had underestimated the depth of his feelings for her. She sighed for the umpteenth time, confused and miserable, and Fiona glanced up from her station. Ruth smiled weakly and the other woman smiled back before returning her attention to her computer. Ruth, though, continued to look at Fiona thoughtfully. Come to think of it, she was the only one who had not changed her attitude towards Ruth in any way. There had been no surreptitious glances or indirect attempts to get information out of her – she had simply continued on as though she had no idea about The Date.

Ruth sighed again, and Fiona carefully put down her pen, folded her hands on the table and looked at the analyst. She said nothing, simply waited for the other woman to start a conversation if she should wish. There was no-one else about, so Ruth took the plunge.  
"What is it like, working so closely with Adam?"  
Fiona gave it some thought before she answered. "It's… rather wonderful," she said with a soft smile. "It can sometimes feel like we're the only two people in the world, that no-one else could possibly understand me the way he does. Because we can share everything; no need to keep secrets from the day's work from each other."  
"But he's technically your boss. Does that not become awkward sometimes?" Ruth queried.  
Fiona's smile widened. "Well, I'm the boss at home so it balances out nicely."  
Ruth couldn't help but smile back at that, but then Fiona sobered. "Because of everything we've been through, I think we have learnt not to sweat small stuff like that. You know? Life is too short – especially ours. Spooks'," she clarified. "If I may offer some advice," she said carefully, and waited for Ruth to nod before she continued, "I've always believed it will be less painful to one day regret the things you have done that you shouldn't have, instead of the things you never did but perhaps _should_ have." She stood and gathered some files before she added, "Harry clearly adores you, Ruth. And if you feel the same about him - that is a wonderful thing that so many others will never be lucky enough to experience." With that she walked away, leaving Ruth alone with her thoughts.

0o0

By the time Harry got back he found the Grid deserted. A glance at his watch informed him that it was past seven in the evening, but normally Ruth and possibly one or two others would still be there. He couldn't really blame his team for making themselves scarce rather than deal with his temper tantrums; he was probably not much fun to be around at present. He reflected morosely that he owed Adam an apology, and probably Ruth too. He should in fact just apologise to the whole bloody world and be done with it. Irritated, he poured himself a whisky and settled behind his desk to tackle the small mound of paper that had gathered in his absence. Put there by Ruth, he knew, and even if he hadn't the sticky notes with her scrawled instructions stuck to most of them would have been a dead give-away. He picked up the first one and fingered the yellow square of paper as he tried not to picture her dark head bent over it as she wrote. What was he going to do?

The pods whirred and he looked up to see the subject of his ruminations enter, a brown paper bag in hand. She'd probably forgot something, and he watched her sadly as she made her way to her desk and retrieved whatever it was from a drawer. He was still watching as she made her way back to the pods, but to his surprise, instead of continuing straight to them she turned left and headed to his office. She knocked softly but did not wait for his answer before she entered, and that warmed him immeasurably. The awkwardness of the last few days somehow seemed to have disappeared as she stopped inside the door and lifted the bag. He waited with baited breath, careful not to get his hopes up.  
She inhaled deeply, and then the words hurried out of her mouth. "I got some Chinese. Have you had dinner yet?"  
Harry's eyes moved from her face to the bag and back again. The aroma wafting towards him was enticing and he suddenly realised how hungry he was.  
"No, I haven't," he responded, watching her like a hawk, worried she was going to dump the bag on his desk and bolt. "It smells good." He stood, aware of his heart hammering in his chest. "Why don't we, er, go to the meeting room? Eat there?" he suggested tentatively, and to his immense relief she nodded immediately. Still afraid that she might change her mind at any moment, he delicately herded her towards the meeting room, careful not to touch her inadvertently. In the end she went happily enough and he relaxed a fraction once they were seated.

He watched her hands as she dished out the food, mesmerised by their movement. To him it was elegant, even though at some level he was aware that most would think her clumsy. God, he was in trouble.  
"Thank you," he said warmly as she handed him a plate. "This is a Godsend - I'm quite famished."  
She smiled. Days like today, when he literally went from one meeting to another, she knew he usually forgot to eat, or simply did not get time to do so.  
"You should take better care of yourself," she chastised. "When's the last time you had a proper home-cooked meal?"  
Harry stopped chewing for a moment as he thought about it. "Does fish fingers and baked beans count?" he asked mischievously and was rewarded with a soft laugh.  
"Definitely not," she played along.  
"Oh. In that case I can't remember the last time," he responded gloomily.  
She watched him eat for a few seconds, steeling herself for what she was about to say next. "…We should probably do something about that," she suggested shyly, and Harry stopped eating abruptly and looked at her. She made herself meet his gaze and couldn't help but smile as his expression shifted from disbelief to cautious optimism.  
"I would like that," he said happily and she let out a breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding.  
They sat looking at each other, savouring the shared moment for long seconds, before he turned serious again.  
"About Juliet," he began, anxiously watching her face, "I do have a good reason for excluding her from the investigation." He groped for the right words and she took pity on him.  
"It's all right, Harry. I think I know what's going on." It was her turn to watch him closely now.

"She's your source on Pilkington, isn't she."

 _tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

**PART VI**

 _Thursday 14 December  
The Grid_

Harry stared at Ruth, and then he smiled ruefully. "I should have known you'd figure it out," he said, proud and not a little grateful that her intelligence had spared him an awkward explanation. "What gave it away?"  
"The mobile information," Ruth responded. "You need high level authorisation to get that from GCHQ, especially over the course of a weekend. Someone like the National Security Coordinator could do it."  
He nodded. "Juliet authorised it. She was also the one who first alerted me that something was amiss with Pilkington."  
"How did she know?" Ruth asked curiously.  
In response Harry just looked at her and the penny dropped. "She's one of his lovers?"  
"Yes." He said nothing more – he knew it was not necessary to impress upon her that this information should go no further.  
Ruth shook her head in bewilderment. "How does he do it? I mean, he's not what you would call handsome or anything."  
Harry was about to respond when movement at the pods caught his attention. "Pilkington's here," he murmured and her eyes widened. Before she could say or do anything, the man in question appeared in the door and surveyed the scene before him with interest.  
"Harry old man," he said, and managed to let the greeting sound as though he had just caught them _in flagrante delicto_.  
Ruth blushed and began to gather the debris of their meal. Harry fought the urge to tell her to sit down and ignore the man, and instead kept his focus fully on the visitor.  
"Andrew. To what do we owe the pleasure?"  
Pilkington's eyes travelled over Ruth slowly before returning to Harry. "I need to speak to you. Your little piece of office fluff can run along," he said and pulled out one of the chairs at the table.  
The blood drained from her face and she looked to Harry, but he did not move his attention away from Pilkington. He watched the man with a sardonic smile, and she could find no hint in his demeanour that he was offended by Pilkington's words.  
And then he said, "Thank you Ruth. You can go home, it's getting late."  
He had dismissed her without so much as a look, and humiliation burnt through her as she stuffed everything in the paper bag and fled.

Harry said nothing further until she had closed the door behind her. Anger flared bright in his chest, but he was careful to hide it. He could not let this man see how much Ruth meant to him. When he did finally speak, his tone remained neutral, taking the sting out of the words. "You're a shite, Andrew."  
Pilkington laughed, unoffended. "Seriously, is she the best you can do? If you're desperate for a bit of skirt I can help with something a lot more tasty."  
Harry's expression did not change. "I can find my own bit of skirt, thank you." Behind Pilkington he saw Ruth leave through the pods, her head down. "Did you want something other than playing the pimp?"  
"Yes." Pilkington turned serious in an instant and watched Harry closely. "I want to know why you are spying on me."  
Straight to the point, then. Harry looked amused. "I assure you, if I were spying on you, you would not know it. What gave you the idea?"  
For the first time there was a flicker of doubt in Pilkington's eyes. "Someone's been trying to access my bank account," he explained.  
Harry frowned and shrugged. "Sorry, _old man_ , it wasn't us." He picked up his whisky glass and toyed with it as he asked, "Are you up to something, Andrew? _Should_ we be looking at your bank account?"  
"Of course not," Pilkington said hurriedly and got to his feet. "Probably some fraudster – I'll ask the bank to monitor things closely."  
Harry stood as well. "Right. If you need any assistance," he offered innocently as he escorted Pilkington to the pods.  
"That's good of you, Harry, thank you," Pilkington responded, suddenly all sweetness and gratitude. "I'll let you know."  
He could not get away fast enough and Harry stood watching until he had disappeared. He took out his mobile and punched a few buttons, then waited impatiently for the call to be answered.  
"Malcolm," he said when it finally was, "I have a suspicion that Pilkington will move around some of his money in the next few hours. It might give you an opportunity to track it."  
He disconnected, cherishing the feeling of a long shot paying off. Then he hurriedly made another call.

She did not answer and his heart sank. He let it ring out, but when it went to voicemail he didn't know what to say and hung up. Bloody Pilkington and his poor timing and boorishness. Anger welled up and he viciously squashed it. Was there a cosmic conspiracy to ruin every moment they had together? Had they somehow offended the universe and it was now getting its own back? He grunted in frustration, then strode determinedly to his office. He was a man of action, and he would act. Tonight. Now. He would not allow her to stew overnight and blow things out of all proportion. In his office he savagely stabbed at the phone and when his security officer answered, he barked, "I want to leave immediately, to Miss Evershed's house."

But even before he had left his office, the universe interfered again. His phone rang, and it was Juliet.

0o0

 _Friday 15 December, early morning  
The Grid_

As soon as Harry stepped onto the Grid he was collared by Fiona. It was only 07:30 but it seemed everyone was in early.  
"Harry, I've got an opportunity to get to the women they've brought in."  
He joined the huddle gathered around her desk, which included Adam, Zaf, Jo and Ruth. He tried to make eye contact with Ruth but she was determinedly looking anywhere but at him, and he suppressed a sigh. "What's the play?" he asked, shifting his attention to his Section Chief.  
It was Fiona who answered. "My contact I mentioned yesterday is a nurse. She works at the clinic in Newham. She's been contacted by a Syrian man she knows, who offered her a lot of money to bring a doctor from the clinic to have a look at some women working for him. He made it clear they were sex workers and that he did not want anything on the record about their existence."  
Harry pursed his lips. "And you think these are the same women Pilkington is bringing in?"  
"Only one way to find out," Adam said. "We send in Fiona with this nurse."  
There was a long silence as Harry considered the various angles, whilst his officers watched him expectantly. "Okay. Set it up," he agreed eventually to everyone's delight.  
He turned to his analyst. "Ruth-" he began, but at that moment Malcolm popped up from behind his screen.  
"Harry!"  
Harry closed his eyes in frustration. "Later," he said to her before stalking away.

"It worked?" he asked as he leaned over Malcolm's shoulder.  
"Yes. I'm in."  
"And?"  
"There're some very large payments coming into his off-shore account. I traced them to one of the Syrian government's unofficial accounts. These payments are forwarded almost immediately by Pilkington once they come in." He looked at Harry with a triumphant smile.  
"Please tell me the money is going to Armscorp," Harry stated expectantly, and Malcolm nodded.  
"Pilkington transfers it to Armscorp," he confirmed.  
Harry straightened up with a steely look. "Good work, Malcolm." He was about to move away when Malcolm continued.  
"We've found something else of interest."  
"Pilkington is in contact with Boutros al-Nasser," Ruth's voice said unexpectedly close behind his right ear, making him jump and turn towards her sharply.  
He collected himself, very aware of her proximity. "The former Syrian army officer we gave asylum to because he claimed President Assad tried to have him assassinated?"  
"The very same," she confirmed.  
Harry thought for a moment. "It's natural for Pilkington to have contact with this man – he is responsible for the Middle East at Six after all. Nasser would be a good source of information about the Syrian government."  
"Sure," Ruth agreed, "but is it natural that Nasser would pay Pilkington five hundred thousand US dollars?"  
Harry looked between Ruth and Malcolm in astonishment. "Nasser paid Pilkington? Not the other way around?"  
"Yes," Malcolm confirmed, handing over the bank transfer information to his boss.  
"Now why would a Syrian dissident pay an MI6 officer such a large amount of money?" Harry asked slowly, his brain working overtime to try and fit the various pieces into a meaningful whole. He looked to Ruth but she shook her head.  
"We don't know."

Harry rocked from foot to foot, hands shoved in his pockets as he stared into the distance. "I'm beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling about this," he confided to Ruth, momentarily forgetting that Malcolm was right there and watching their interaction with interest.  
"What do you need me to do?" she asked, looking at him earnestly. They had slipped into their own private bubble and Ruth was suddenly reminded of Fiona's words: _It can sometimes feel like we're the only two people in the world_. All she wanted was to make things better for him.  
He squared his shoulders. "I want you to trace the movements of Pilkington, Nasser and the Wasim character over the last month. Use that new programme Colin was chewing my ear off about, er…"  
"The link analysis," Malcolm supplied helpfully and they both looked at him as though surprised by his presence.  
"That's the one. I want to know every possible way their paths might have crossed." He looked back to Ruth. "And if we could somehow get our hands on the MI6 file on Nasser, I might have something concrete to take to the Home Secretary," he suggested.  
She nodded, determined, and he gave her a grateful smile before he walked away.

Ruth watched him go until she became aware of Malcolm's scrutiny. "I have to, erm…" she mumbled, but before she could escape Malcolm spoke.  
"I think you make a smashing couple," he blurted with a warm smile, which dissipated quickly at her shocked expression.  
"We're not actually- It's just work, Malcolm," she insisted before almost running away, leaving Malcolm to ponder whether he had just put his foot squarely in it.

0o0

 _Friday evening, 21:00  
Newham, London_

In the back-up van Adam, Zaf and Colin were getting things ready. Fiona was to meet the nurse in fifteen minutes so last-minute equipment checks were the order of the day.  
"Comms test," Adam said into the microphone and Fiona nodded. "Hearing you loud and clear."  
He looked at Colin, who also nodded. "Recording device test – Fiona, say something."  
Fiona smiled at Adam.  
"' _In the summer_  
 _I stretch out on the shore_  
 _And think of you_  
 _Had I told the sea_  
 _What I felt for you,_  
 _It would have left its shores,_  
 _Its shells,_  
 _Its fish,_  
 _And followed me_.'"

Back on the Grid, Harry's gaze had gone to Ruth as soon as Fiona started reciting the poem, only to find hers on him already.  
"Nizar Qabbani," she said softly, falling into his tender eyes.  
"Recording is working fine, we're ready to go," Malcolm announced. When there was no response he glanced over his shoulder, and Harry snapped back to what he was supposed to be doing.  
"Let's do it," he instructed Adam, who in turn nodded at Fiona.  
She squeezed her husband's hand and clambered out of the van.  
"Nightingale is mobile," Adam reported, and the tension ramped up both in the van and on the Grid. Zaf fingered the firearm in his pocket and resisted the urge to take it out and check it once again. He had done so three times already. They were a way down the street from the dilapidated, sprawling house the nurse had identified, and Adam's eyes flicked between the various monitors showing the views from the outside cameras. He could spot nothing abnormal.  
Fiona's voice came through tinnily on the comms. "Eyes on contact," she said, and on the Grid they could see a dark haired woman approach at a brisk pace. The two women exchanged greetings and hugged briefly. Then Fiona got straight to the point. "You introduce me as Fatimah. I'm a trauma specialist recently come from Syria, and I'm desperate for money." She made her contact rehearse the story several times until she was satisfied. "Just act as normal as possible," she finally instructed. "Once we're with the women you do your job, and I'll do mine." The nurse nodded and they moved off towards the house.

As they approached the front door Fiona reached up to her lapel and activated the camera hidden in her brooch. They watched in silence as a man opened the door and looked the two women over. He had a rapid discussion with the nurse in Arabic, before roughly snatching Fiona's medical bag from her hand and searching it.  
"He's confirming Fiona's credentials," Ruth translated quietly.  
Apparently satisfied, he beckoned them inside. He had just closed the door behind them when a second man appeared. He had a gun in his hand and confronted the first man angrily, waving the gun in the direction of the two women.  
"Everyone hold," Adam ordered as Zaf tensed next to him.  
Harry looked at Ruth questioningly.  
"He's, uh, worried that the boss will kill them if he finds out they've brought strangers to the house," she dutifully translated.  
The two men engaged in a heated argument whilst Fiona and the nurse looked on in bemusement.  
"The first one is saying there is something seriously wrong with some of the girls, and if they both keep their mouths shut the boss won't find out," Ruth continued.  
Harry watched the camera feed with concern. "They're petrified," he observed and Ruth glanced at him.  
"Yes, but of what? The mystery boss?"  
He had no answer.

The first man finally persuaded the other and led the two women down a dim corridor to the back of the house. He unlocked a heavily bolted door and shoved it open to reveal a bare room with mattresses strewn on the floor. Fifteen women sat around in small groups, and they all looked up fearfully as the door opened. The man was about to enter but the nurse stopped him firmly. "Wait outside," she ordered, and he obediently stepped back and allowed her to close the door.  
"Brave woman," Harry commented.  
"We are doctors," the nurse announced as the women continued to watch them fearfully. "Some of you need medical attention. Don't be afraid – please step forward if you do."  
No one moved for a few seconds, and then one woman stepped forward. "They can't," she said, and gestured to one corner of the room where five prone figures lay.  
Fiona and the nurse moved towards the corner, and all the other women followed and bunched together nervously around them.  
"How long have they been sick?" the nurse asked the woman who had spoken previously.  
"The sores started appearing within hours of their arrival," she responded.  
The five sick women were covered by blankets, and the nurse carefully lifted one to get a look. She gasped and looked at Fiona in consternation.  
"Nightingale, report," Adam requested, but she did not respond.  
Harry shifted uneasily.  
"Fi," Adam said again, and they heard her take a steadying breath.  
"You need to see this," she replied and the image shook as she detached the brooch and moved it so that they could get a close view of the woman.  
"Oh my God," Ruth exclaimed and looked at Harry in alarm.  
The blood had drained from his face and he stared at the images in horror.  
"Christ. Those are radiation burns."

 _tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

**PART VII**

 _Friday 15 December, evening_

Harry leant over Malcolm's shoulder and pressed the comms button. "Fiona, this is Harry."  
It underlined the seriousness of the situation that Malcolm did not even blink at the disregard for call signs.  
"Those women have come into close contact with weapons grade plutonium. You need to find out where and when, and if possible, what happened to it."  
Over in Newham, the ill woman grabbed Fiona's hand and pleaded, "Help me, please."  
Ruth dropped her head and swallowed and Harry glanced at her, concerned. They all knew there was nothing to be done – the women would die a slow and painful death.  
Fiona hesitated, and Adam took over. "We need that information, Fi. There is a lot more at stake here than these women's fate."  
Steeling herself, she squeezed the woman's hand. "I can help you, if you help me."  
The nurse looked at Fiona sharply and the intelligence officer gave her a warning glance. She kept quiet, but she was not happy.  
Fiona looked between the women. "How did you get here?"  
They stared at her mutely.  
She turned to the woman who had stepped forward previously. "I work for the government. I can get all of you out of here and guarantee you a new life in Britain, but you have to help me in return. We need to catch the men who are doing this to you before I can do anything." She brought out her smart phone and called up the photographs of Wasim, Nasser and Pilkington. "Have you seen any of these men?"  
The woman nodded immediately and pointed to Wasim. "He brought us to this house after we arrived in the country."  
"She identified Wasim," Fiona said for the benefit of the microphone. "How did you get here? In Britain?" she asked again.  
"They smuggled us in by truck. Back in Syria, we were told we could have a new life in Britain if we agreed to bring some things in with us. They would organise everything – transport, papers, and accommodation once we got here. All we had to do was hide a few small things in our luggage."  
"What things?" Fiona asked.  
The spokeswoman shrugged. "I don't know. It looked like spare parts for some sort of machine." She glanced at the others and added, "It looked military to me."  
"Why do you say that?"  
The woman hesitated. "…My husband was in the military. He would sometimes bring things home to work on."  
Harry reached for the comms button again but Adam got there before him.  
"Ask her what her husband did," he instructed, and Fiona did so.  
The woman looked at her. "He was an explosives expert."

0o0

 _23:17  
The Grid_

The mood in the meeting room was sombre. The thought that weapons grade plutonium was floating around somewhere in London was deeply concerning, and they all knew that matters had escalated to a whole new level. Harry rubbed his eyes wearily – he had not slept well the previous night after the incident with Pilkington. He felt claustrophobic – a sure sign that he was beginning to feel the pressure, and loosened his tie and collar in an effort to get more air into his lungs. It didn't help much. When he glanced up Ruth's gaze was on him. She looked worried, and he knew that she had noticed that he was somewhat flustered. Her eyes were red-rimmed; she had apparently also not slept much the previous night. Bloody Pilkington, he thought again, irritated anew.

Adam spread some pages over the table. "These are the drawings the women have made of the items they were asked to bring in," he explained.  
Malcolm immediately pointed at one. "That looks like a tamper."  
"Yeah," Colin agreed, "and that's a neutron initiator."  
Harry closed his eyes. "So there's no doubt that we're talking about some sort of nuclear device?"  
"None," Malcolm confirmed. He gestured to the illustrations. "It rather looks to me like we could be talking about one of those briefcase bombs the Russians invented during the Cold War."  
"So it's not a large bomb?" Harry asked hopefully.  
"Er, no, but it will still take out the whole building if it were to go off in Thames House, for instance, and of course the fallout would be substantial, even without any wind. Almost the whole of London would have to be evacuated."  
Harry stared at the drawings morosely. "So somewhere in London this man Wasim is assembling a nuclear bomb. Could we trace it through the radiation? There must be some sort of leakage," he suggested, mindful of the ill women.  
But Fiona shook her head. "There's no leak – they opened the lead container to look inside. All the women opened the packages they were given; that's how they were able to do the drawings."

Colin was still studying the illustrations. "There's something missing," he said and they all looked at him expectantly. "I don't see a trigger."  
Malcolm concurred. "He's right."  
"Could they build the trigger here?" Adam enquired.  
"Unlikely. We've been trying for years to get hold of the design with no luck so far. They would have to get the finished article somewhere, and the Russians have been hoarding that piece of technology rather carefully."  
"Russia has been a stout defender of the Syrian regime," Ruth pointed out, and Adam nodded.  
"So they may have been willing to present their ally with one."  
"Okay," Harry said briskly, "which probably means that they'll have to make another run into Syria. Have we made any headway identifying the new driver?"  
"No," Adam said, and looked to Zaf.  
"Not so far," Zaf stated, "but my asset asked for a meeting. I'm seeing him first thing tomorrow. Maybe I'll get something from him."  
"Good. I'll speak to the Home Secretary about raising the threat level, but now I want you all to go home and get some sleep. Be back here at nine tomorrow."  
"But what about those poor women?" Jo asked before anyone could move. "Surely we have to get them out, get them treatment," she implored both Harry and Adam.  
Harry said nothing and looked at Adam, and the younger man answered. "We can't."  
"What? You can't just leave them there!"  
Adam looked her in the eye. "We can't do anything that will alert them that we're onto them until we have found and disabled that device. There's simply no choice."

Harry stood before she could argue further. "Tomorrow at nine," he reiterated and disappeared to his office.  
Jo looked to Fiona and Ruth. "You're okay with this?" she demanded, and Fiona sighed. She had seen the horror up close and dearly wished for things to be different, but she understood how it worked.  
"They're right, Jo. Besides, there is nothing to be done for those women. There is no treatment – they will die whether we get them out tonight or in a week's time."  
Ruth said nothing, merely went to her desk and buried herself in work once more.

0o0

 _00:07_

"Ruth."  
She jerked her head up and it took a few seconds to focus on Harry's face. He stood in front of her desk, his coat slung over his arm.  
"I told you to go home almost an hour ago," he admonished. He tried to look stern, but he was too tired to pull it off with any conviction.  
"I was just, uh, going through the link analysis data," she explained. "Besides, you're still here," she pointed out, much too logically for the late hour.  
"Ah yes, but I've recently been told that I am a terrible example, and that I should take better care of myself."  
She lifted an eyebrow and smiled, which promptly changed into a yawn. "Oh God, sorry," she mumbled, hastily covering her mouth with a hand.  
"That settles it," he said decisively and reached over her computer to switch it off. "Come on, I'll give you a lift home."  
Ruth froze and looked at him uneasily, trying to divine whether there was anything other than kindness behind his offer. He noticed and the look of defeat that crossed his face nearly broke her heart.  
"You'll struggle to find a taxi this time of night, and the last bus has long gone," he reasoned, and for once she was too tired to argue.  
"All right, thank you," she said quietly and let him usher her out of the pods and down to the car park.

As the car wound its way carefully through the icy streets she fought to keep her eyes open. Harry had sunk into the back seat next to her and promptly let his head fall back against the head-rest, and she wasn't sure whether he was still awake. She hazarded a glance in his direction as the next streetlamp flickered across his face, to find him watching her through barely open eyes. He looked so, so tired and her heart softened and she smiled at him. In response he reached for her hand and tugged gently until she came to settle against his side.  
"Get some rest," he murmured, and she capitulated and laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She was enveloped by his warmth, his scent, his solidity, and she slid into sleep almost immediately.

She woke as the car went over a bump about a mile from her house, her body having been conditioned by years of travelling this route to recognise that it signified that she was almost home. Her hand was still enveloped in Harry's larger one, and she revelled in the warmth of it. His chest expanded and contracted rhythmically, his breathing deep and she deduced that he was still asleep. The wool of his coat was soft against her cheek and she smiled, ridiculously happy in the moment. Perhaps he was right; perhaps everything else was just noise, and the way she felt right then was all that mattered.

He stirred as soon as the car came to a stop and blinked sleepily. "We're here?"  
"Yes." She squeezed his hand. "Don't get out-" she began, but he overrode her immediately.  
"Don't be ridiculous. I'll see you to the door."  
He was out of the car before she could protest, and his chivalry warmed her. The temperature had fallen dramatically and it was bitingly cold outside the car. Wet patches left on the pavement from the rain earlier in the day had iced over and they made their way carefully up the treacherous path to her door. He offered his arm for support and she obliged by slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. They made it to the door without incident and he smiled.  
"There. Safe and sound."  
She squeezed his arm, resisting the temptation to invite him in. "Thank you. For the lift," she clarified.  
He nodded once, then unexpectedly leaned in and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth, and a frisson ran through her.  
"I'll pick you up again in the morning," he said as he stepped away, and she was too distracted by the feeling of his soft lips against her skin to argue. So she nodded and said, "Thanks. Sleep well, Harry."  
His answering smile stayed with her for the rest of the night.

0o0

 _01:00  
Kensington Gardens_

The park was deserted as Wasim made his way to the rendezvous. He did not like meeting so late; he felt exposed and conspicuous moving about in these early hours. But he had no choice; he had been summoned by a senior officer and had to obey. The other man was waiting already and he took a seat on the bench next to him.  
"Feriq," he greeted, using the man's military rank.  
"Have you found another driver?" his companion asked without preamble.  
"Yes," Wasim responded.  
"Good. We have no time to waste – we have our target. Everything must be ready for the twenty-fourth."  
Wasim did a quick calculation in his head. "But it is a six-day journey for the truck to make the return-trip to Syria," he objected, "and that is if you drive non-stop. One man cannot do it."  
The other man looked at him without expression. "Then you'd better find a second driver, and make sure they leave by Sunday." He stood, not waiting for a response, and started to walk away.  
"May I at least know the target?" Wasim called after him and the man paused briefly, then turned around.  
"St Paul's Cathedral," he responded. "The Christmas Eve service."

 _tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

**PART VIII**

 _Saturday 16 December, 08:00  
Newham, London_

Farooq was waiting for Zaf as he arrived, and promptly ushered him into the still closed shop and straight through the back. Another man was dawdling there, smoking nervously. He straightened up as Farooq and Zaf entered the store room and stubbed out his cigarette.  
"This is Mahmood," the shop owner explained to Zaf. "He used to drive for me until I regrettably had to fire him." He gave the young man a stern look. "For stealing from me. But I still help him when I can – he is a fellow Pakistani, after all. Mahmood has been approached by a man called Wasim, who wants him to take a load of unspecified goods to Syria, and to bring back fabric and a few other things."  
Zaf observed the young man in front of him with interest. He was tall and thin and there was a spark of intelligence in the dark eyes. "So you came to Farooq?" Zaf enquired. "Why?"  
Again the shopkeeper answered on behalf of the other man. "Money," he said without rancour. "I put it about discreetly that there will be a reward in it for anyone who could identify this Wasim chap's new driver."  
Zaf absorbed this. "And what did Wasim offer you to drive for him?" he asked the young man.  
Mahmood glanced at Farooq before he reluctantly answered. "Fifty thousand quid."  
"Bloody hell!" Zaf exclaimed, "and you still wanted Farooq's reward as well?!"  
The young man drew himself up straight, affronted. "No. He just likes to think the worst of me," he said as he gestured at Farooq. "I was worried – I _am_ worried." He looked to Zaf now. "Wasim said I was never to open the back of the truck. They track it and would know exactly when and where it stopped, and for how long. There are surveillance cameras in the cab and the back, and he said they would kill me if I disobeyed these orders. These are bad people, and Farooq said you could help me." He paused, then added somewhat plaintively, "I fear for my life."  
"What do you want me to do?" Zaf wanted to know.  
"Wasim wants me to do the round trip in six days, and be back on the twenty-third at the latest. I told him that was impossible for one driver, so he instructed me to find a second driver, someone I trust."  
Farooq beamed at Zaf. "He came to me for help, and I told him I had just the man."

0o0

 _09:00  
The Grid_

Harry and Ruth came through the pods together and she scanned the faces of those already there anxiously, but no-one seemed particularly interested in the fact that they arrived at the same time. Perhaps the novelty of the two of them in a relationship had already worn off, or perhaps people had something more serious to focus on. Ruth rather hoped that it was a combination of the two.  
Adam had been on the phone, but now put it down and walked over to them. "Zaf's asset came through," he announced. "We know who the new driver is. Zaf's coming in; he'll be here in ten minutes."  
Before Harry could respond, Malcolm hurried over. "Harry…" he said reluctantly and handed over some surveillance photos. "They're from the house where the women are being held," he explained quietly.  
Harry frowned, uncertain what to expect as he began to page through the photos. His expression soon turned grave as he realised what he was looking at, and for just a moment he looked as though he was carrying the cares of the whole world on his shoulders. "When?" he asked wearily as he handed the photos off to Adam.  
"At two this morning," Malcolm answered and Harry nodded wordlessly.  
"Meeting room as soon as Zafar arrives," he instructed and walked away without looking at anyone.

Ruth turned to Adam questioningly and he handed the photos to her. They showed five body bags being carried out of the house and loaded into a van, and she was overwhelmed by a sudden sorrow for these women she had never even met. She searched for Fiona and found her sitting at her desk, her head down and her fingers fiddling with a pen, and moved over to her. "You okay?" she asked quietly, reminded that it wasn't all that long ago that Danny had been shot in front of Fiona. Instead of her.  
Fiona looked up and tried to smile, not quite successfully. She shrugged. "There was nothing to be done," she said, and Ruth wasn't sure whether the words were meant for her or for Fiona herself.  
"No," she agreed. "It wasn't your fault, you know," she added in an attempt to make things better, and Fiona nodded gratefully.  
Ruth thought that was the end of it and was just about to turn away when Fiona spoke again. "But knowing that and really believing it are two different things, aren't they?"  
Ruth realised they were no longer talking about the women, that this was about Danny and the scars still carried by the other woman over his awful death. It somehow humanised Fiona and for the first time she felt herself close to her colleague, in the same way she had been to Danny and Zoe. She knew there was nothing to be said, so she merely squeezed Fiona's arm and returned to her own desk. But before she could switch on her computer, Zaf burst through the pods.

0o0

"So I'll be the second driver," Zaf concluded after briefing the rest of the team on the developments of the morning. "According to Mahmood I won't be allowed to go into Syria and witness the exchange – I'll have to wait in Turkey until he returns." He looked at Harry expectantly, who didn't respond immediately.  
"It's a great opportunity," Adam commented, doing his best to influence Harry's decision.  
Harry turned to Malcolm. "It will be no use to take the risk if we can't look at the cargo. So, _will_ we be able to look at the cargo without them noticing?"  
"Well," Malcolm began, "we should be able to figure out a way to intercept the signal from the surveillance cameras. If we can do that, we can loop the image for a certain amount of time to make it look as though nothing has changed."  
"What about the tracker on the truck?"  
Colin fielded this one. "We can create a ghost signal running parallel to the real one, and swap them at the relevant time to make it look as though the truck never stopped. Only problem is you'll only have a few minutes – if the stop is too long they'll notice the discrepancy in the distance the truck is expected to travel in a certain amount of time."  
"So it's doable," Zaf said, excited by the prospect of action, and Harry couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm.  
He glanced at Adam before addressing Zaf again. "We won't be able to provide you with back-up all the way," he cautioned, but Zaf was undeterred.  
"I can look after myself," he proclaimed confidently, and Harry smiled, proud of his officer's courage.  
"All right. Set it up with Adam and Jo," Harry decided before moving on swiftly.

"Malcolm, Colin, anything on the link analysis between the movements of Pilkington, Nasser and our friend Wasim?"  
Colin pushed his glasses up his nose. "So far we've been unable to put all three of them in the same place at the same time," he said regretfully and Harry's face fell. "However, Harry's theory may still be applicable." He paused dramatically and Harry suppressed his irritation.  
"Go on," he half-invited, half-demanded and Adam and Ruth shared a smile.  
"We can put Pilkington and Nasser together on a number of occasions, which you would expect if Nasser is an informant of MI6. But, we can also put Nasser and Wasim together on a different number of occasions."  
"Where?" Adam asked, his interest piqued.  
"Kensington Gardens and surrounds," Malcolm answered.  
Adam looked at Harry. "So Nasser is acting as the cut-out to make sure Pilkington is not linked to Wasim?"  
"Maybe," the older man answered. "Or perhaps Pilkington is not aware of Wasim and his actions." He added scathingly, "It is the type of obtuse behaviour one can expect from him. Let's not jump to conclusions."  
Jo shook her head and asked in exasperation, "But what _do_ we know, exactly?", causing them all to look at each other.

"Very good question, Joanna," Harry said eventually and turned to his analyst. "Ruth?"  
"Er," Ruth responded, caught off-guard, but swiftly gathered her wits. She moved to the display board and grabbed a marker. "We know that Wasim is running an illegal trafficking route into Syria." She wrote WASIM in big red letters, warming to her task. "We know that the truck brings back fabric only manufactured by government factories, as well as women and bomb parts. We also know that weapons are going in the other direction-"  
"Actually we don't," Harry interrupted. "We only have allegations from a deceased truck driver."  
Ruth conceded the point with a tap of the marker in his direction. "Fair enough; we have allegations that weapons are going in the other direction," she said, unaware that the others were watching them with undisguised interest. "And we also know that Andrew Pilkington," his name was added in big red letters as well, "is receiving large amounts of money from the Syrian government and paying it on to Armscorp, the company with the biggest military contract at present."  
"And he is attending tawdry parties along with a myriad other influential people where the women brought in are used as sex slaves," Harry added.  
"Yes," Ruth agreed, drawing a house between the two names with a W in it. "But Pilkington has never contacted Wasim directly as far as we know. Instead he has regular contact with Boutros al-Nasser, a dissident Syrian military officer now resident in England." Nasser's name went below the other two. "And he, in turn, has regular contact with Wasim." She drew arrows going both ways between Pilkington and Nasser and between Nasser and Wasim.  
Harry leant back, his hands clasped behind his head as he pondered her work. "It is against our current government policy to provide any type of assistance to the Syrian government, let alone military assistance, so the question is – is Pilkington acting on his own initiative or is it covertly sanctioned by the government?"

Zaf grinned, his head swivelling as he watched them bat the conversational ball to and fro, until Adam broke the rhythm and reminded them all of the seriousness of the situation. "And we know they want the last part for their nuclear device here in London by the twenty-third," he said pointedly. "So chances are they're targeting Christmas for whatever it is they're planning."  
"Agreed." Harry's eyes did not move from the board. "We really need the MI6 file on Nasser," he concluded, and his head turned to Ruth. "And you know someone who can get it for us."  
"Millie," she said immediately. Subconsciously she had known this moment was coming. She looked at him apprehensively. "I'm not sure I can convince her to help us, and if I could, it'll take time," she stated, but Harry shook his head impatiently.  
"Time is of the essence," he stressed, and leaned forward to open the folder in front of him. He extracted the compromising photograph of Pilkington and slid it across the table towards her. "Show her that – hell hath no fury and all of that."  
Ruth looked at the image in horror before her gaze snapped back to him, her eyes flashing mutinously, and to everyone's astonishment Harry said more gently, "I'm sorry, Ruth. I don't see that we have any other choice."  
It was the sincerity in his expression that swayed her in the end, and she nodded reluctantly.  
Harry smiled gratefully before briskly getting back to business. "Good. Do it tonight. I'll get Juliet to occupy Pilkington for the night, to make sure he is out of the way."  
Adam stared at Harry as realisation dawned. "So that's why you told us not to bother with Juliet."  
"Yes. She asked me to look into him," Harry admitted.  
Jo looked incredulous. "You expect her to sleep with him even though she doesn't trust him?! How can she do that?"  
Harry was impervious. "She'll just have to lie back and think of England," he said flatly, leaving a shocked silence behind as he got up and strode from the room.

 _tbc_


	9. Chapter 9

**PART IX**

 _Saturday 16 December  
Early evening_

Ruth sat in the pub opposite Millie, whose sharp eyes were watching her eagerly. What was it in humans, she pondered, that made them so susceptible to salacious news? All it had taken to get Millie to meet her was the hint that Ruth had something saucy to share about Harry, something that had upset her. It had not been difficult, that last part; he really could be a bastard in certain work situations, as he had so eloquently shown that morning.  
Millie reached over the table and grasped Ruth's hand as she adopted a sympathetic tone. "So what did the bastard do then?"  
Ruth gently extracted her hand and took a deep breath, acutely aware that on the Grid Malcolm and Harry were listening intently. She reached into her handbag and took out the photo. "He gave me this," she said quietly and laid it face down on the table between them.  
The plump woman frowned and her gaze flicked between Ruth's face and the photo uncertainly. She somehow sensed the change in Ruth's attitude, and picked up the photo almost unwillingly. She turned it over slowly and looked at it, and when she realised what she was looking at her face crumpled and she collapsed into herself. Ruth watched it happen, and instantly resented Harry for what he had made her do. As though he knew this, his voice came into her ear, and it sounded almost regretful.  
"Don't give her too much time to think. You need to press," he instructed, and Ruth dutifully obeyed.  
"Turns out it's not my boss who is the real bastard," she commented and was surprised at how steady her voice was.  
Millie was shaking her head, increasingly vehemently. "No. No!" she exclaimed. "It's not true. It's… it's a fake!" She thrust the photo back at Ruth and suddenly the image of the Syrian women's radiation burns, and the empty expressions on their faces as they were abused by these powerful men swam before Ruth's eyes and a switch flipped inside her. She grabbed the photo and slammed it down in front of Millie again.  
"You think we can fake that orgasmic expression on his face?! Look at it!" she demanded, and Millie's gaze went back to it involuntarily. "Your lover is bringing in women from Syria and using them as sex slaves for the rich and powerful," Ruth continued brutally. "How can you defend that?"  
Back on the Grid Harry raised his eyebrows, taken aback – and rather impressed - by the harshness of Ruth's words.  
There was a long silence during which Millie's eyes slowly filled with tears, until one escaped and rolled down her cheek. It brought Ruth back to herself and she at once felt rotten, and had to fight the urge to reach out and comfort the other woman.  
"You bitch," Millie said at length, but there was no conviction in the insult. Instead she sounded small and defeated, and Harry, so experienced in these matters, knew they had her.

"Softly now, Ruth," he advised, and the words were a relief to her. It was the tacit permission she needed to follow her instinct and reach out to Millie.  
"I'm so sorry that I had to show you that," she said, and she did not have to fake the deep regret in her voice. "But something bad is about to happen, and Andrew is involved in it, and we need your help to stop it."  
Millie refused to look at her, but Ruth knew she was listening. She briefly explained the situation, sharing enough of the facts for the other woman to understand that the threat was real, and when she came to the end she paused to allow the information to sink in. And then she added, "And that's why we need your help – to get us a copy of Six's file on Nasser."  
Harry gripped the back of Malcolm's chair in anticipation as they all waited for Millie's answer, and it felt like the longest ten seconds of Ruth's life before it came.  
"All right."

0o0

 _One hour later  
The Grid_

Ruth stepped through the pods to find Harry waiting for her. She could see no-one else, although she knew Malcolm and Colin were probably still around somewhere, beavering away to create Zaf's legend. But for now it was only Harry, and for the first time since her meeting with Millie she allowed her feelings free rein. She yanked the file out of her bag and slapped it down on the nearest desk, then stepped away from it as though it was contaminated. Harry watched her carefully, his eyes never leaving her face. She found it unnerving; felt exposed under his scrutiny.  
"Well done," he said, and it was exactly the wrong words for him to use. She laughed, and to her horror felt like she was about to cry.  
He frowned, concerned. "What?"  
And abruptly the dam burst. "I broke her, Harry. I destroyed her life. I probably took away the only good thing she had, that made her happy." The words rushed out of her in a torrent and Harry was taken aback by her vehemence.  
"But it wasn't real, Ruth. He was using her," he reasoned, and she flared at him.  
"It doesn't matter! You don't get it, do you – people like Millie, like me, we don't get to have those things. She had at least the illusion of it, until I destroyed it for her."  
He stared at her, appalled, and then anger burnt bright in his eyes. He stepped close to her and his hand enclosed her wrist as he spoke. "Don't ever equate yourself with her. Do you hear me? There is no comparison. None." His eyes bore into hers and she could not look away. His face, his mouth, was so close and she could not break the spell he was weaving around them. He continued, "And you _can_ have more than the illusion, if you'd only allow yourself to have it." He dipped his head fractionally and it brought his mouth even closer to hers as he added, "If you'd only allow me to give it to you." It was an unconditional offer of his devotion, a plea for a chance, and she had no resistance against it. She lifted her free hand and rested it against his chest in a wordless answer, and he smiled in response. Then Colin laughed somewhere around the corner, and Harry stepped away from her reluctantly and picked up the file.

0o0

Ruth helped Colin and Malcolm to backstop Zaf's legend, but kept one eye on Harry's office. He was working through Nasser's file, a frown of concentration etched between his eyes. Eventually he sat back and folded his arms, and stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. Curiosity got the better of her.

Harry was brought out of his contemplation of the ceiling by Ruth sliding open his door. Without knocking, as usual. And, as usual, he couldn't work up any annoyance at her. Anyone else would have received short shrift for disturbing him, but instead he said mildly, "Come in."  
She slid the door closed behind her and he tilted his head towards the sofa, so she took a seat.  
He tapped the file with a finger. "According to this, Nasser isn't a dissident at all. It was a ruse to allow him to come to London and be the unofficial Syrian government liaison with Six, without raising uncomfortable questions. The whole thing was set up with Six's assistance."  
Ruth absorbed the information. "That's rather clever."  
"Hmm. The type of thing I might have done myself," he observed, eliciting a smile from her. It was indeed.  
"So… the bomb?" she asked curiously, and Harry leaned forward, elbows on the desk.  
"Also a part of the plan. Nasser established contact with ISIS before coming here, and the idea is to blame them for the attack afterwards. Nasser's links to ISIS will be made public to sell it to the country, but obviously not before Six spirits him away to a cosy new life and identity somewhere. And all to the end of legitimising support for the Syrian government."  
Ruth looked aghast. "You mean – MI6 has authorised a nuclear attack on London?"  
Harry smiled mirthlessly. "Now that is the question, isn't it?' he answered and she shook her head, unable to make any sense of it.  
"Surely they wouldn't go that far," she objected, looking to him for reassurance that the world hadn't gone totally and utterly mad.  
He took his time and eventually said, "I would think not. Perhaps the intention is to stop it in the nick of time; to 'discover' the plot a few days before it comes to fruition."  
She nodded, comforted, but then he continued.  
"Unless…"  
"What?" she asked apprehensively, but he did not answer. His mind was running through all the possible permutations, and she gave him time, knowing that there was no-one better at seeing the bigger picture.  
"Unless we're all missing something," he said in the end. "Ruth," he added, a new urgency in his demeanour. "Can you get onto our sister service in Pakistan and see what they have on Nasser and Wasim Butt? Quietly," he emphasised, and she took a steadying breath.  
"Okay, but it will take a few days to get a response."  
Harry was well aware of the difficulties involved in the task he'd set her and nodded once. He knew that she would do all she could to speed things up. "In the meantime, say nothing to the rest of the team," he instructed.  
She waited, but he did not deign to provide a reason and she let it go for now. "So Zaf goes ahead tomorrow?" she queried.  
"Yes. We need proof of the weapons going into Syria, so the operation goes ahead as planned."

0o0

 _Sunday 17 December  
Newham, London_

Adam and Jo waited in a car around the corner from the warehouse. Jo had a laptop on her knees and an array of scanning equipment was mounted to the dashboard. In the end they had decided not to put any of the surveillance or scanning equipment on Zaf's person or in his luggage, in case he was searched. The plan was for Adam and Jo to follow the truck once it left the warehouse and scan the air for signals emanating from it. Back on the Grid, Harry and the rest of the team watched satellite footage of the warehouse and saw Zaf arrive. He was led inside and they waited tensely for the next development. Harry paced behind Malcolm and Ruth's chairs whilst Ruth chewed her pen and watched the monitor anxiously. It was half an hour before the large door rolled up and the truck nosed its way out slowly. Malcolm zoomed in until they could see the faces of the occupants and Ruth heaved a sigh of relief when she identified Zaf's ugly mug.

"Alpha One, truck is mobile," Malcolm said into the comms, and Adam started the car. He gave the truck plenty of space until they were well clear of the warehouse.  
"Okay, Malcolm, I'm pulling up to the bumper," he said once he was satisfied that the coast was clear in terms of other surveillance.  
Malcolm acknowledged. "Jo, activate devices one and three please," he instructed, and Jo tapped the relevant keys on the laptop.  
Harry watched as a vertical line on Malcolm's monitor began to run across another squiggly line that looked somewhat like a heartbeat. He did not pretend to understand any of this, and waited impatiently for information from the techies.  
"That's the tracker signal," Colin said when the line froze, and made a note of the frequency.  
"Jo, now switch on device two please," Malcolm said, and the process repeated. Once again the line froze at a particular point. "Video signal," Colin explained. "Let's see if we can see what they're looking at."  
He tapped away at his keyboard and nodded at Malcolm, who spoke into the comms one more time. "Now device four please."  
For a few seconds Colin's monitor was filled with snow, and then it cleared into a split screen. One showed the inside of the cab, and the other showed the inside of the trailer, where they could see six crates fastened securely.  
"We're in," Malcolm announced triumphantly. "Alpha One, you can peel off now."  
Adam slowed down, and they watched the truck gradually disappear into the distance.  
"What now?" Jo asked, and Adam glanced at her.  
"Now we wait."

0o0

 _Late that night  
Covent Garden_

Andrew Pilkington sat in the Shelton Street car park and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. His contact was late and he was becoming irritated. Soon the opera crowds would leave and he would be conspicuous sitting there in the car. He considered leaving, but it was essential that he speak to the man. This was a crisis; it could not wait for the meeting to be rescheduled. So he stayed, and was rewarded ten minutes later when he saw a man weaving his way through the cars towards him. The man paused under a light to allow Pilkington to see his face, and he pressed the button to open the central locking. Moments later the man slid into the passenger seat.

Boutros al-Nasser turned to Pilkington, and did not bother with a greeting. He did not particularly like the MI6 officer, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Theirs was an acquaintance of convenience, and they seldom bothered with the veneer of niceties. "Do we have a problem?" he asked bluntly.  
Pilkington did not waste any time either. "Yes. My contact in the Metropolitan Police has learned that the Police, and possibly MI5, knows about the parties with the women."  
This was bad news indeed to Nasser. "How?" he queried.  
"The truck driver you so messily disposed of had photographs, apparently," Pilkington explained, unable to keep the accusatory note out of his voice. "You people - your bloodlust have caused us a serious problem," he stated, putting the blame squarely elsewhere.  
Nasser turned his head slowly towards the other man and smiled; a disturbingly threatening gesture. "Ah," he responded, "the westerner's superiority complex and unwillingness to accommodate any culture that differs from his. I never tire of it." The words dripped with sarcasm. "As for our bloodlust – you taught us well during the Crusades, my friend."  
Pilkington watched him carefully, once again made aware how little he knew of this man. "We don't have time to sling around accusations," he said instead. "I can take care of the police angle, but MI5 is another matter."  
"Why is that?"  
"Because it involves Harry Pearce, and he has his own particular set of morals that he refuses to compromise on."  
Nasser absorbed this information. "Then perhaps it is time for you to learn from our ways for a change," he said at length. "Sometimes violence is the only option you are left with," he added with quiet menace, before he got out of the car and melted into the night.

 _tbc_


	10. Chapter 10

**PART X**

 _Monday 18 December  
The Grid_

As soon as Harry stepped onto the Grid he made for Malcolm's desk. Ruth was already at hers and he smiled warmly at her when she looked up. She smiled back, an impish smile that showed off her dimples and his heart skipped a beat.  
"How are we doing, Malcolm?" he asked, and the techie looked up blearily.  
"Nothing out of the ordinary so far," he reported, pointing to the image on his monitor. It was the feed from the cab of the truck, and Zaf was driving.  
"Okay," Harry said and turned on his heel, when Malcolm called him back.  
"Here," he said, and handed Harry a requisition form.  
Harry glanced at it and did a double-take. "Bloody hell, Malcolm!" he exclaimed, looking between the paper and the techie incredulously.  
"We need a replica truck to test the blocking and substitution of the signals," Malcolm explained somewhat defensively.  
Adam joined them and shared an amused look with Ruth.  
"Absolutely not," Harry stated firmly. "The budget will not stretch to the acquisition of a twenty ton truck. You will have to make alternative arrangements."  
"Don't worry, Malcolm," Adam chipped in, still amused by his boss' horrified expression, "I'll borrow one for you."  
Harry eyed his Section Chief dubiously. "Would that be borrow as in 'borrow'?" he asked, his fingers illustrating quotation marks in the air, and Adam laughed.  
"No, Harry, I'm not going to steal one," he said soothingly. "I know a bloke who owns one that he's not using at this particular moment."  
"Right then," Harry said, mollified, "problem solved," before retiring to his office muttering under his breath about outrageous expenditures.  
Adam grinned at Ruth; Harry's pugnacious protection of his budget was a long standing joke between them. Then he turned to Malcolm. "I want us to get into that truck before it crosses the border between Turkey and Syria," he explained. "They should reach Turkey by tomorrow afternoon – will you and Colin be ready with your gizmos for me to fly out to Turkey with by noon tomorrow at the latest?"  
"Sure," Malcolm said confidently, "if you get us that truck in the next hour."  
"Consider it done," Adam responded and clapped the other man on the shoulder, "be back in a jiffy."

0o0

 _Tuesday 19 December  
The Grid_

Harry stepped through the pods and looked around as he tugged off his leather gloves. "Where's Malcolm?" he queried and Adam looked up from where he was monitoring Zaf's progress.  
"He and Colin are still playing with their truck," he explained. "How's Juliet?"  
"Getting fidgety." Harry was just back from briefing the National Security Coordinator, who had made her displeasure at the slow progress more than clear. "Will you make your noon flight?" he asked, and Adam nodded.  
"Malcolm assures me they're doing the final test and will be ready within the hour."  
Harry turned to Ruth. "Any progress on that other thing?" he asked nonchalantly, and she understood immediately that he was asking about the information request to the Pakistani Service.  
"Not yet; hopefully by tomorrow," she responded.  
When he kept on loitering in front of her desk, she looked at him curiously. He glanced around to ensure that no-one was paying attention to them before speaking. "Would you like to go for a drink tonight?" he asked quietly, and she did not even have to think about her answer.  
"Yes," she agreed with a small smile, which Harry returned with a bigger one of his own.  
Eventually he tore himself away and returned to his office with a light heart.

0o0

 _Early evening  
Kirikhan, Turkey_

Zaf became aware of the vehicle following them after a few miles. They were close to the Syrian border where he would have to wait for the truck's return, as Wasim had instructed that he was not allowed to enter Syria. Mahmood would go on alone to the rendezvous in Damascus, but even he would not be present when the truck was unloaded and filled with its return cargo. They had tightened the operation significantly after Johnny Cook's escapades. All of this meant that they would have to get into the truck soon to record the cargo, and he had been expecting contact ever since they had crossed into Turkey. When they reached a quiet stretch of road, the car came right up to the back of the truck and flashed its lights. He recognised Adam and Jo and resisted the urge to wave at them, aware of the camera up in the corner of the cab. Mahmood was asleep in the little compartment behind him, so was out of the way. Suddenly his radio crackled weirdly, and seconds later Malcolm's voice came through loud and clear.  
"Drifter, this is Control," he said and Zaf rolled his eyes. Malcolm and his bloody codenames. "Keep on driving as per normal for the next ten minutes. Do not make any sudden movements – we are making loop footage. Rub your nose if you understand."  
Zaf rubbed his nose.  
"Okay, ten minutes start… now."

Back on the grid it was all hands on deck. Malcolm and Colin were poised over their keyboards, whilst Fiona monitored any mobile traffic to the warehouse, where Wasim had last been seen. Ruth was similarly monitoring the many phones known to belong to Pilkington, and Harry was in constant contact with his counterpart in Turkey, who he had strong-armed into assisting them. Malcolm nodded at Harry who spoke into his mobile. "Send in the delaying vehicle now."

Another truck suddenly pulled in front of Zaf from the side of the road and he had to slow down.  
"That's us," Malcolm informed him. "We need to win some time so that you are able to make up the difference in your position before we switch the tracker back on." The rest of the ten minutes passed in silence.  
"Got it," Colin said and started working on the loop footage immediately.  
"Drifter, you may move again," Malcolm said, and Harry allowed a brief smile as Zaf immediately scratched his head vigorously.  
"In two miles you will see a warehouse on your left," Malcolm continued. "Turn in there and pull straight inside."  
Zaf rubbed his nose again.  
"Footage ready," Colin said.  
Malcolm's eyes were riveted to the monitor tracking the truck's position, and as soon as it neared the turn-off he said, "Get ready for footage swap." Colin sat ready, finger poised over the Enter key, as Malcolm assumed the same position. It was imperative that they hit the two keys at precisely the same moment to avoid a tell-tale hitch in the footage. Behind them Harry's voice murmured, "Truck approaching – open warehouse door."  
Then Malcolm said, "In three… two…. one… Now!" and two Enter keys were struck simultaneously.

"Did it work?" Harry asked, unable to tell the difference in the footage.  
"Drifter, scratch your head again," Malcolm instructed, and Zaf did so on one monitor, but on the other he remained motionless.  
There were relieved smiles all round as the truck turned off the road and drove straight into the warehouse, with the following car right behind it.  
"You have ten minutes," Malcolm said and Adam acknowledged. Inside the warehouse a number of Turkish officials were waiting, and they swarmed around the truck as soon as it came to a stop. Zaf jumped out and joined the scrum of people gathered at the back, and unlocked the doors. Adam was first in, crowbar in hand and issuing instructions to the rest to ensure they covered all the crates. Jo moved around with a video camera and got footage of the contents of each crate as it was opened. Harry watched grimly as images of automatic weapons, hand grenades and even a few surface to air missiles were broadcast to the Grid.  
"Two minutes," Malcolm informed Adam, who barked orders for the crates to be closed up again. He went round to make sure there weren't obvious evidence that the crates had been opened and ushered everyone out.  
He walked with Zaf to the cab. "Everything okay, mate?"  
"Yeah. No problems so far," Zaf said, stretching his back before clambering back up to his seat.  
"Okay. We'll follow the same routine when the truck comes back from Syria," Adam informed him, then slapped the side of the cab twice. "Go!"  
The door at the other end of the warehouse rolled up and Zaf steered the truck out and back onto the road, where Malcolm instructed him to push for a few miles, until he was satisfied that he wasn't too far off from where he was supposed to be.  
"Tracker and video feed back on in three… two… one," he said, then turned back to Harry with a satisfied expression.  
"Well done, all," Harry praised. "I want everyone to go home and get a good night's sleep – there is nothing to be done until the truck comes back."

0o0

It was close to 20:00 when Harry ushered Ruth to his car and opened the back door for her. Once settled next to her he informed his security officer, "To the jazz place, please James."  
Ruth lifted an eyebrow in surprise and he looked at her. "Is that okay? They play light jazz on Tuesdays," he informed her, and she nodded.  
"I'm just surprised we're not going to the Cricketers," she teased him, and he smiled indulgently.  
"I thought it might be time to show you that there's more to me than pub fare and whisky," he replied, clearly in a good mood after the success of the operation.  
She laughed and quite deliberately placed her hand on the seat between them, and Harry didn't need a second invitation. He folded his own around hers and she turned it palm-up to allow him to intertwine their fingers. He didn't let go for the rest of the journey, intermittently rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand, and she found the gesture almost erotic.

The place was situated in a small side street not far from Thames House, and the security officer found a parking spot near the entrance.  
"Go get some dinner next door," Harry told him, "I'll give you a call once we're ready to leave."  
He guided Ruth inside, his hand in the small of her back, revelling in this new freedom to touch her. She smiled up at him, her face open and her adoration for him clearly on display, and it was too much for his famed self-control. He drew her into the dark nook just inside the door and lowered his head to hers, and kissed her. He managed to restrain himself to a gentle kiss at first, until her lips willingly parted for him and it became ardent and heated in a heartbeat. It only lasted for half a minute, but it was enough – once they drew apart he was totally and utterly lost in her.  
"We should, er…" he managed with a vague gesture over his shoulder.  
"Mmm," she responded, not faring much better in the eloquence department, and he took her hand and led her into the interior.

They found a small table in a dark corner, and ordered food and wine as a few musicians tuned their instruments on the small stage across the room. They were joined by a tall, slender black woman with a shaven head and large beaded earrings. She took up position behind the microphone and as soon as she was settled the band started playing without preamble. When she began to sing her low, sensuous voice filled the room, her slightly accented French adding to the allure. Ruth was mesmerised, all the sensations of the evening threatening to overwhelm her. She became aware of Harry's gaze on her and turned to him, impulsively reaching for his hand again.  
"God, Harry, she's fantastic."  
"I'm glad you like it. I often come here on Tuesdays to listen to her." He tightened his grip on her hand, momentarily overcome that she was finally here with him. How many evenings had he sat here, listening to this glorious voice and yearning for her?  
"Where is she from?" Ruth asked, curious about the accent.  
"Senegal," he answered, continuing to watch her as she enjoyed the music, savouring every second of being with her.

0o0

Time passed without them noticing as they enjoyed the food, the music and each other's company. Harry was amazed to see that it was almost 23:00 when he glanced at his watch, and said regretfully, "I suppose we better get going. My poor security officer will long since have finished his dinner."  
She nodded, equally regretfully, and waited while he paid the bill and called his security officer. He came round the table and held her coat for her, and she couldn't stop herself from leaning back into his chest once she had shrugged it on. He squeezed her upper arms in response.  
When they stepped through the door the cold hit them like a physical blow. It had begun to snow, and the flakes swirled through the pools of light of the sparse street lamps. The snow was still light enough to melt as soon as it landed and the streets remained clear. Harry handed her into the car and moved around to get in the other side, and as he did so noticed two men sitting in another car some distance away. He closed the door against the cold thankfully. "We'll drop Ruth off first, thank you James," he said as Ruth scooted closer to nestle against him.  
"Thank you," she murmured into his coat as James turned over the key and the car failed to start, "I had a magical evening."  
He wrapped an arm around her. "Me too. We should-" he started to say, when it all came together in his mind. His time in Ireland. The men down the street. The car failing to start. He could hear James begin to turn the key again and time slowed down.  
"Don't!" he yelled frantically, already grappling for the door handle with one hand and grabbing for Ruth with the other. "Get out! Get out now!"

The explosion was heard as far as six miles away.

 _tbc_


	11. Chapter 11

**PART XI**

 _Tuesday 19 December  
London_

Everything happened very fast, too fast for Ruth to process any of it. One second she was snuggling against Harry's side, the next he was frantically yelling in her ear and shoving open the door. He grabbed her arm and unceremoniously yanked her out of the car, and something wrenched in her shoulder. She had no time to register the pain that followed as Harry shoved her away from the car as hard as he could so that she stumbled a few metres before she began to fall headlong in the street. His bulk was behind her, and when the explosion ripped through the car and the shockwave hit them she felt his arms go around her as they were flung to the ground violently. He landed on top of her with such force that the breath whooshed from her, and then it began to rain fire and metal all around them and she was certain they were going to die. As she struggled to catch her breath she was vaguely aware of Harry's arms sheltering her head. A door banged down right next to them and she screamed, and then wondered insanely who was protecting _his_ head from the falling debris. Afterwards she could not tell how long the whole thing lasted; rationally she knew it had to be only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. She heard screams, but could not discern how close they were; everything sounded like she was under water.

Eventually she became aware that it had stopped, and Harry was kneeling next to her. Blood was streaming from a gash above his left ear and she could see his lips moving, physically feel his panic as his hands framed her face and his eyes scanned her body for damage.  
"…Okay," she managed to croak out and relief flooded his face. His voice came from far away.  
"Keep still," he ordered and she heard the screaming again, and this time she recognised that it came from close by. From behind her. Harry's eyes lifted across her and she saw the shock register at whatever he saw. She tried to turn her head the other way but he held it gently in place.  
"Don't look," he said. "I have to leave you for a bit. Don't look," he pleaded again before he got to his feet and stepped over her.  
Her hearing was slowly coming back and she heard him say, "Don't move, James," and her heart broke. Harry's young security officer. She couldn't stop herself; she turned her head and looked, and immediately wished that she hadn't. It was awful; there was so much blood. He was almost unrecognisable as a human being and she clamped a hand over her mouth to quash the sob that wanted to escape. Harry removed his tie and knotted it around the young man's upper leg, and she realised to her horror there was nothing left under the knee.

Harry looked around frantically and spotted a woman standing nearby, her hand over her mouth. "Call an ambulance!" he yelled at her as James grappled at his arm with a bloody hand. A gurgling sound rose from his chest and Harry grasped him and lifted his torso slightly. "Come on, James, hold on," he implored. "They'll be here soon. Hold on."  
But the gurgling intensified and frothy bubbles began to appear between the young man's lips.  
"I've got you. I'm here," Harry soothed, but when he looked at Ruth she could see the hopelessness in his eyes, and she knew that James was going to die. She didn't bother to stop the tears that began falling, and shuffled closer until she could reach the bloody hand and enclosed it in both of hers. They sat with him, Harry cradling his head and Ruth holding his hand, as he struggled for a few more breaths before his eyes closed and his chest stopped moving for good. In the distance they could hear the sirens approaching, but for James it was too late.

Harry covered his eyes with one hand and a single sob escaped him, before he breathed deeply and got himself under control. He gently laid down the young man's head, then stood and removed his coat to drape it over the body. He towered over them for a moment, covered in blood, before he stumbled away and sat down heavily on the curb, his back to them as he cradled his head in his hands. Ruth noticed in alarm that his suit jacket at the back seemed soaked, and when she took a closer look at the coat he had put over James' body, she noticed that it was absolutely shredded. She got to her feet painfully, for the first time becoming aware of her own aches, and moved over to sit next to him.  
"You're bleeding," she said gently and he looked at her in a daze.  
"So are you," he returned, his voice hoarse with grief as he turned over her hand to show her the grazed palm. The stinging pain in her other hand and both her knees told her that she had lost a lot of skin, but it paled into insignificance beside what had just happened moments earlier. Harry seemed to feel the same way, for he made no effort to staunch the blood dripping from his head wound or the lacerations on his back. They sat side by side, not speaking, not moving, until the ambulance arrived.

0o0

 _Wednesday 20 December  
The Grid_

When Juliet Shaw stepped onto the Grid on Wednesday morning, she was astonished to find both Harry and Ruth already there. She marched straight into Harry's office.  
"Shouldn't you be in hospital?" she demanded, and he glanced up at her. He looked terrible; he had a row of stitches above his ear and untold bruises, and God knows how many stitches in his back. But more worryingly, there was a stillness to him which unnerved her. She knew him well enough to know what it meant, to know that when he finally blew it would be spectacular and uncontrollable.  
"I still have an officer in the field," he answered, but Juliet was not so easily put off.  
"Adam is in Turkey and well capable of handling things on his own," she objected and Harry clenched his jaw in irritation.  
"People have tried to blow me up before, Juliet," he snapped, "I don't need to lie in bed all day to get over it."  
She glared at him in fond exasperation, then said pointedly, "That may be true, but Ruth has certainly not experienced anything of the sort before. Shouldn't she at least be at home?"  
That brought him up short and his gaze lifted to the woman in question out on the Grid. When she had lain there in the road, unmoving, he had realised with blinding clarity that he loved her. He could have lost her, and the thought squeezed his heart painfully.  
"I tried," he said more gently, "she refused."  
Juliet rolled her eyes. "You two deserve each other," she observed without malice, and moved to take a seat on his sofa. She watched him, noting how he was careful not to rest his back against the chair. "Do you think it was Pilkington?" she asked at length.  
"Well it wasn't the bloody IRA," Harry retorted, his anger flaring anew.  
Juliet did not rise to his ire. "How do you think he found out you were looking into him?" she asked instead, and Harry shrugged his shoulders, then winced and stopped abruptly.  
"Could be any number of things. Maybe the secretary tipped him off, or he has a source in the Police." He stared at her fixedly. "Or maybe _you_ warned him."

Juliet laughed, then abruptly stopped when she realised that he was serious. "Oh for God's sake!" she snapped. "Don't be ridiculous. Are you sure you don't have concussion?"  
Harry was unmoved. "Is it? Ridiculous?"  
Her own anger was now kindled. "What _possible_ reason would I have for warning that slimy little man?" she demanded as Harry observed her closely.  
"If the plot with the Syrians is government-sanctioned you could have warned him that I was getting close," he reasoned, but she shook her head immediately.  
"If that were true, it would have been monumentally stupid of me to set you on him in the first place," she said acerbically, and after a beat he conceded the point. Juliet was a good many things, but stupid was definitely not one of them. His head throbbed and he wished he had not so haughtily refused the painkillers at the hospital.  
"It's a moot point, now," he said wearily. "He knows, and the question that we should concern ourselves with is what do we do now."  
Juliet sat forward. "I've already authorised extra protection for you, as well as for Ruth."  
He was touched that she had thought to include Ruth in the arrangements, and nodded his thanks. Then he dropped his bombshell. "I want to bring Pilkington in and interrogate him." He pinned her in his gaze and added in a deadly quiet voice, "And I want you to give him to me when it is all over."

0o0

When Juliet finally took her leave he heaved himself to his feet and ventured towards Ruth's desk. The previous night they had both been too shocked to really talk, and this morning Fiona had brought a change of clothes for each of them to the hospital and drove them straight to the office. He needed to know that she was really all right before things picked up speed and they were once again embroiled in the operation. He stopped before her and waited until she registered his presence and looked up.  
"Can I have a word?" he murmured.  
She hesitated, but eventually nodded, somewhat reluctantly. He tried not to read too much into that – now was not the time to be concerned about matters of the heart. She followed him back to his office and he closed the door, then guided her to the sofa. He took a seat next to her, careful to leave a respectable gap between them and observed her carefully. Both her hands were bandaged and there was a graze on her cheek from when she'd hit the road, and he resisted the temptation to touch her. He fished around for an opening, not sure what to say, what to ask. Or perhaps not really sure about his motive for wanting this chat. But she surprised him by moving first – she raised a hand and lightly touched his cheek. His eyes flew to hers and she looked at him before applying gentle pressure. He obediently turned his head so that she could inspect the wound above his ear.  
"That's probably going to scar," she observed softly.  
"Probably," he agreed from long experience. "Ruth…" he started and faltered, then started again. "Are you all right? Not physically – obviously you won't be all right physically." He trailed off helplessly.  
She did not give a glib answer; instead she seemed to consider the question carefully before she took a deep breath. "I don't know. Every time I close my eyes I see James." After a pause she added almost shamefully, "And then at the same time I'm grateful that I'm still alive, and that _you're_ still alive." She looked at him imploringly. "I'm not sure I like what that says of me."  
He touched her hand. "It says you're normal." He held her eyes to make sure she absorbed his words. "It's survivor's guilt, and you learn to live with it."  
"How?" she asked plaintively, and he smiled with gentle determination.  
"By coming to work every day, to make sure their sacrifice was not in vain."

And suddenly so much of what he did made sense to her; his dedication, his honour, his single-minded determination in the face of all the odds. She had never loved him more.  
"And you?" she asked, and he tilted his head in puzzlement.  
"Me?"  
"Yes. How are _you_?" It was her turn to study him intently, and he savoured the feeling of having someone to worry about him. It had been too long since that had been the case, but perhaps now there was a chance. And because of that he gave a truthful response.  
"I'm… angry. I want vengeance, and I intend to have it when this operation is over."  
It was said with such determination that she had no doubt that he would not rest until he had fulfilled this promise. She also had no illusions about what this vengeance would entail, and she was not so sure how she felt about that. Harry believed in blood for blood, she knew that and she understood on some level – that was the world he had lived in for more than thirty years. But she was from a gentler world, and she did not always understand this more brutal one that he knew so well. Her eyes travelled over his wound again. How many other scars did he have? How many other violent deaths had he witnessed, and what had it done to him? How could she judge, when she had not lived through all of it, seen what he had seen?  
"Do you want to come over to mine for a home-cooked meal on Christmas Day?" she blurted, and it wasn't clear which of them were more surprised by her sudden boldness. Harry swiftly recovered.  
"Yes I'd like that," he said quickly before she could change her mind. "I'll bring the wine," he offered, and she accepted with a dip of the head.  
"I should warn you though," she added bashfully, "that I'm not the greatest cook in the world."  
Harry was undeterred. "My own culinary skills don't extend much further than opening a can. As long as you can beat that, it will be a treat for me."  
She smiled her dimpled smile as she said, "I think I can manage that," and he marvelled at her ability to make him feel better even on the worst of days.

0o0

 _Wednesday evening  
Kirikhan, Turkey_

As soon as the truck pulled into the warehouse, Adam, Jo and the Turkish officials started unloading the rolls of fabric from the back. Mahmood stood to the side in wide-eyed anticipation, curious to see what the cargo was. He was a little disappointed when it seemed to be only rolls of fabric; he had expected something more exotic. But then there was a shout from inside the trailer and he peered around the door to see that they had removed the panel at the back and exposed a hidden door. Adam set to picking the lock, and had it open in less than a minute. Inside they found five petrified women, who cowered away from them. Jo stepped forward and crouched down.  
"Do any of you speak English?" she asked, and two of the women nodded. "We are from the British government, and we are here to help you," she promised. "The people who have put you in this truck are bad people who want to hurt our country, but with your help we can stop them." As she was talking Adam was handing out food and water, which the women gratefully accepted.  
"Did they ask you to bring anything into Britain for them?" Jo eventually asked, and one of the women translated the question to the others. The youngest among them nodded shyly and shuffled forward. From her small bag she fished a square box, and Adam took it from her, and opened it.  
"Malcolm?" Harry asked back on the Grid as Adam held the object up to the camera.  
"Yep, that's the trigger," Malcolm confirmed, and Adam put it back in the box and handed it to the young woman again.  
"You will go the rest of the way with the truck," Jo explained to the women. "You must say nothing to the men who will receive you on the other side, and we will come and get you soon after."

Adam left Jo to placate the women and stepped out of the trailer to speak to Zaf and Mahmood. "Keep an eye out once you reach England, and especially when you drop off the truck. As this is the last run, Wasim may not want to leave any witnesses."  
Zaf nodded grimly but Mahmood looked worried. "What are we supposed to do? It's not like we have guns or anything," he complained.  
Adam clapped him on the arm. "Don't worry – we'll be nearby," he said cheerfully. "Now, off you go."

0o0

 _The Grid_

Juliet stepped forward once the truck was back on the road in Turkey.  
"So there's no doubt now that we're dealing with some sort of nuclear device?" she asked, and it was Malcolm who answered. "None. And once that piece of equipment reaches Britain, it will be fully functional."  
She looked worried. "Why not just confiscate the truck right now and make sure they never get it?"  
Harry gingerly leaned against a desk. "Because we have no idea of knowing whether they could possibly get it somewhere else," he explained. "We still don't know what the target is or whether they might have a conventional bomb as back-up. We need to let this play out and scoop the whole sordid mess up in one net."  
She considered it for a few seconds and eventually said, "Fine. But if you fail, Harry…"  
He said nothing; he was well aware of the stakes involved and did not need reminding.  
"So what now?" Juliet wanted to know, and Harry straightened up with a steely look.  
"We pick up Pilkington and let him sweat overnight."

0o0

 _Thursday 21 December  
The Grid_

Ruth was escorted onto the Grid by her security detail, who cheerfully informed her that they would collect her once she was ready to leave that evening. She mumbled her thanks; she found the whole thing disconcerting and wasn't sure what level of familiarity was acceptable in such circumstances. How did Harry manage it? It didn't seem to bother him, but then he had lived with a security officer for much longer and was probably used to it. He was in his office and she gave him a small smile as his eye caught hers. It was such a new thing, this newfound ease between them, and she was still feeling her way in terms of what was an acceptable level of intimacy at the office. Neither of them were particularly demonstrative about their feelings, but she still worried that even the most innocent look between them would be blown out of all proportion by the over-active imaginations of their colleagues.

She sat down behind her desk and switched on her computer. The operation was reaching a critical stage and the next few days would be hectic as they tried everything to find the bomb and stop the attack. She was in the process of drawing up a list of possible targets, but it was nigh on impossible – every single church in the country would be holding a Christmas service, and they were all possible targets. There was a message in her inbox from the Pakistani service; they had finally responded to her urgent request. Better late than never, she supposed. She wasn't sure what Harry hoped to get from them and opened the message without much expectation, but that swiftly changed once she started to read. When she'd finished, she sat immobile, filled with dread as the full implications of the words sank in. And then she was on her feet, swiftly moving towards Harry's office.

He looked up as she slid open his door, but the warm smile at the sight of her disappeared as he registered her expression.  
"What's happened?" he asked immediately, his full attention on her.  
"I got a response from the Pakistani Service," she responded, and he waited, a small frown etched between his eyes. "They say Wasim Butt is an ISIS operative."  
Harry absorbed that. "It could still be part of the plot concocted by Six; he may think he's working for ISIS," he argued, looking for the lesser evil in all of this.  
But the expression on her face told him he was grasping at straws even before she uttered her next words.  
"No. They also have proof that Boutros al-Nasser is using MI6 to achieve his own ends."  
"And that would be…" he asked apprehensively, and she smiled sardonically.  
"To launch a terror attack against Britain. Harry, Nasser is an ISIS double agent."

 _tbc_


	12. Chapter 12

**PART XII**

 _Thursday 21 December  
Thames House_

Pilkington sat in the basement interrogation room, wondering what time it was. How long had he been here? It was hot and bright - lights had been on all the time and his eyes felt gritty. Each time he'd begun to fall asleep a siren had gone off and he'd had no rest. When would they come? He knew that they had left him alone for all these hours to unnerve him, and to be honest it was working. It had given him time to ponder all the variables, including the worst case scenario. How much did Harry Pearce know? But more importantly, how far would he be willing to go to get the information he wanted? Especially after-

The door opened, breaking into his thoughts. Adam Carter came in, followed by Harry and moments later, to Pilkington's surprise, Juliet. He saw an opening.  
"Juliet, thank God. Harry has gone mad." He turned to the man in question, noting the stitches above his ear and the careful way he was moving. "You've always been a renegade, Harry, but you've gone too far this time. Snatching a senior officer from Six and locking him up in your grungy dungeon? This is going to be the end of you," he blustered, holding out his manacled wrists to be unlocked.  
No-one moved, they all just stood and looked at him. Harry's eyes were dark and hard, his mouth set, and a tendril of fear ran up Pilkington's spine. He appealed again to Juliet.  
"What's going on?" he asked with all the innocence he could muster, but she folded her arms and glared at him. The woman who had shared his bed over the last few months was nowhere to be seen.

Finally Harry moved. He stepped forward and took a seat at the table, and Adam followed suit. He took a mobile out of his pocket and put it on the table between them, and with a shock Pilkington recognised it as his Black Ops phone.  
"I would like you, Andrew, to read us the last message you sent on that phone," Harry said with icy calm.  
Pilkington made no move to pick up the phone, his mouth suddenly dry.  
"No?" Harry said and reached for the phone. "Let me help you out." He pressed the necessary buttons and read, "'Action against Harry Pearce authorised. Neutralise with immediate effect.'" He put down the phone and lifted his eyes to the man opposite him. "You ordered my death."  
Pilkington swallowed. "Now, Harry-" he began, but Adam cut him off.  
"Where's the bomb?" he asked brusquely, and Pilkington's head swivelled to him in surprise.  
"What bomb?" he hedged, but a muscle had begun to twitch at the corner of his left eye.  
"The bomb your friend Nasser is going to plant as part of the cosy little plan you cooked up with the Syrian government," Adam explained helpfully, and Pilkington felt himself sinking ever deeper. They seemed to know _everything_. How had they found out? Where had he made his mistake? He used his confusion in an attempt to throw them off the scent.  
"What plot? I don't know anything about a plot." He looked between them wildly. "You have all gone mad," he protested again, more vehemently. "All this talk about bombs and plots with the Syrians – I'm not involved in anything like that!" He spread his hands in appeal as he turned to Harry, playing his trump card. "Look. I know you know about the women and the parties, and I freely admit to that. There was an opportunity, and I took it. It was just a bit of fun, and no harm done. Powerful men need a chance to blow off steam, and I provided that for them. Surely that's not a crime deserving of this treatment?"

Harry's face had darkened as the speech went on, and Adam sat forward in his seat, primed to intervene if his boss should lose it completely.  
"Just a bit of _fun_?" Harry ground out. " _No harm done_?! You have exposed half the government and a plethora of influential businessmen to blackmail and God knows what else, but no harm done? And sexual slavery – just a bit of fun? I think _you're_ the one who is insane."  
Pilkington's mouth curled in a sneer. "And I think _you'll_ find that the world has moved on from your prudish moral principles, old chap," he taunted. "I've not lured these men into anything they've not been doing anyway. You should thank me, actually, because all I've done is make sure they do it in a controlled environment. I've _lowered_ the risk factor, not increased it."  
Harry stared at him, and then he smiled. It was not a comforting gesture. "You're a regular saint, Andrew," he said and turned to Adam. "The man's delusion knows no bounds," he confided to his officer, who nodded his agreement. Turning once again to their prisoner, he continued, "I would love to hear you explain how the attempt on my life fits into this heroic tapestry you're weaving. Pray tell."  
Pilkington opened his mouth, then closed it again. He'd been neatly snookered out of the only acceptable explanation he could have offered – that Harry had endangered an important official operation. But to use that reason, he would have to admit that there was, in fact, an operation with the Syrians. He looked into Harry's eyes and saw that the man knew exactly what he was thinking. It seemed that he had underestimated Harry Pearce, and he knew that he was going to pay dearly for it.

"You can't," Harry stated, "because then you would have to admit that there is a plot with the Syrians. You see, unlike you, we here at Five do our homework properly before we blunder into things. That way we make sure we don't bring catastrophe to the country we're trying to protect."  
Pilkington frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
And suddenly Harry was tired of the cat and mouse game. "It means," he snapped, "that we would not have brought an ISIS officer into the country and let him run amok."  
"But Nasser isn't really an ISIS officer – it's part of the ruse," Pilkington objected immediately, and belatedly realised that he'd inadvertently admitted to the plot with the Syrians. Adam Carter looked disappointed that it had been this easy to break him, and Pilkington couldn't help but wonder whether the man had been looking forward to a bit of torture. He had a reputation for a willingness to cross the line on occasion, after all.  
Silence reigned as Harry contemplated the man across the table wordlessly, astounded by the sheer stupidity of his actions. "No," he said at length, "he has played both you and the Syrians. He is an ISIS agent and a high ranking officer in their army, a feriq – Lt General. He is here to perpetrate an act of unimaginable terror against the British people, and you have enabled him to do just that."  
"Nonsense," Pilkington objected immediately, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

Harry smiled sardonically. "Did you actually bother with a background check on him?" he asked in response. "Or did you simply swallow the juicy bait he dangled in front of you – the chance to create an environment where our government would change its policy and step into an alliance with the Syrians to fight ISIS. And to seal the deal he threw in the women as a bonus. He even gave you the money to buy that house they are kept prisoner in." After a beat he added viciously, "It seems he at least did his homework on you; he knew your weakness and exploited it beautifully."  
Pilkington had paled and Harry tilted his head. "You didn't, did you," he surmised in disbelief. And now he was really angry. "You stupid, arrogant bastard," he accused in cold, precise syllables. "Congratulations; your depravity and greed is about to give London a nice big bang for Christmas. And it will be the gift that keeps on giving – a nuclear winter for years to come and the city uninhabitable. It'll ruin the economy and take countless lives."  
Pilkington shook his head in bewilderment. "…Nuclear winter? What are you talking about? It's just an ordinary bomb – no casualties if it can be helped."  
"Is that what Nasser told you? Christ, Andrew, did you just take his word for _that_ too?" Harry slapped down some photos on the table, of the women with their radiation burns, of the sketches of the bomb parts, and lastly of the trigger currently on its way to London. "He lied to you. They are building a nuclear device right here in London somewhere, and it will be complete as soon as this last part reaches London on the twenty-third." He tapped the photo of the trigger. "We don't know the target, and we don't know exactly when they plan to attack, although Christmas Day is a good bet." Harry suddenly stood and Pilkington shrank back from him as he planted his palms on the table and leant across it menacingly. "You can begin to redeem yourself by telling us what we need to know to stop it, or you can continue to claim ignorance and die a slow death from radiation along with the rest of us. Your choice."

0o0

 _The Grid_

"He doesn't know." Harry was sprawled in a chair in front of Ruth's desk and everyone else was gathered around.  
"You're sure?" Fiona asked and Harry nodded wearily.  
"The imbecile gave Nasser free rein and didn't ask any questions in order to claim total deniability afterwards."  
"So we're still nowhere," she said and resisted the urge to look at her watch.  
"Not totally nowhere," Ruth suggested. "We can follow the trigger once it reaches London and hopefully identify their base of operations that way."  
"Yes," Harry agreed, rallying somewhat, "and we have a more immediate option as well. Pilkington has agreed to set up a meeting with Nasser and to get the information from him. Let us hope to God he does not fuck that up too," he commented acerbically before heaving himself to his feet and going back to his office.

0o0

 _Friday 22 December  
Late night, Covent Garden_

Pilkington waited in the car park. Every few minutes he would start biting his nails, then realise what he was doing and force himself to stop, only for the cycle to start all over again. He was afraid; he knew the chances of him living through this were small. If Nasser didn't suss out that he knew the truth about the attack and kill him, he was pretty sure that Harry Pearce would not let him live once his usefulness had ended. As he waited he wracked his brains, trying to think of a way he could get himself out of this mess. His mobile beeped and he glanced at the message. It read: _Blue Nissan, middle of third row from left_.  
It was from Nasser. He wanted Pilkington to come to him, and the MI6 man's unease increased. The Syrian had never done this before.  
"Control, Nasser wants me to come to him – blue Nissan, middle of third row from left."  
On the Grid Adam frowned and looked at Harry. They had wired Pilkington's car as well as the man himself, but they would lose some control over the situation if Pilkington switched cars.  
"Got it," Malcolm said, zooming in on the blue car through the parking lot's cctv. There was only one occupant.  
"Do it," Harry ordered. "If you refuse it'll make him suspicious."

Pilkington got out and moved to the third row on rubbery legs. He could feel sweat run down his spine and when he lifted his hand to wipe his upper lip it shook. Christ, he was frightened.  
Adam watched his erratic progress with concern. "He's going to blow it," he predicted, and Harry felt inclined to agree.  
Pilkington reached the third row and moved down it until he saw the blue Nissan. The headlights flashed once and he took a deep breath and moved towards the passenger side. He glanced around before he opened the door, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.  
Nasser watched him intently as he slid into the seat. "What is so urgent that we had to meet again?" he demanded the moment Pilkington had closed the door behind him.  
"I want to make sure everything is in place," the spook responded. His voice was steady, and Adam looked relieved.  
"Everything is in place," Nasser responded, still watching the other man closely.  
"Good. I have your passport here – when will you leave?"  
"The less you know, the better," Nasser said and held out his hand for the passport.  
Pilkington did not hand it over. Instead he said, "I want to know when and where the attack will happen. To make sure no-one I care about is anywhere near."  
There was a long silence, and Harry shifted uneasily.  
"Did you manage to neutralise the threat from MI5?" Nasser asked in lieu of an answer, and Adam cursed softly.  
"He suspects," he said to Harry, who looked grim.  
"Yes," Pilkington lied, and the moment he did so Harry knew it was a mistake.  
Nasser smiled, a broad toothy smile full of menace. "You are a bad liar, Andrew," he said almost regretfully, and the shot echoed loudly through the comms.

Harry's mouth twitched, but other than that he showed no emotion.  
"Nasser is getting out of the car," Malcolm said urgently and reached for the switch to alert the SO19 unit that was on standby, but Adam's voice stopped him.  
"Let him go. We still don't know where the bomb is. Let's try to follow him and see where he leads us instead."  
They watched in grim silence as the figure darted through the cars and disappeared from view.  
"Check on Pilkington," Harry instructed and one of the SO19 members went to the car.  
"There is no pulse," he reported after a few seconds and Harry turned on his heel and walked away.  
"Let me know what the tail on Nasser turns up," he said over his shoulder before he disappeared into his office.

Ruth gave him a few minutes before she followed. She knocked gently on the doorjamb and waited until he looked up.  
"You okay?" she asked, and he nodded.  
"Yes. I'm disappointed that we didn't get the information we need."  
She came in and perched on the edge of the sofa, and his eyes drank her in. "We still have Zaf and the trigger," she said, and Harry looked troubled.  
"Yes. But clearly they know that we're onto them, and that might spell trouble for Zaf," he explained, and at last she understood his mood.  
"What should we do?" she asked, sharing his concern for their young colleague.  
"I want that truck covered from all conceivable angles the moment it crosses the Tunnel," he instructed, and she nodded and stood.  
She had reached the door when he called her back.  
"Ruth?"  
She turned to him and he got to his feet and moved closer to her.  
"I really hope we get to have that Christmas dinner," he said and she smiled softly.  
"So do I."

0o0

 _Saturday 23 December  
Dover_

The truck crossed into Britain at 09:37, and from the moment it turned onto the M20 it had lots of company. Malcolm tracked it via satellite, and Adam, Fiona and Jo were all deployed on the ground at various intervals along the route. Adam followed the truck at a decent distance, and he was in turn followed by a van full of SO19 squaddies. Harry paced restlessly in his office, constantly on the phone, although his eyes remained glued to developments out on the Grid. When nothing happened for the first hour, everyone began to relax slightly.

Mahmood was driving whilst Zaf slept in the little compartment, and the young Pakistani was blissfully unaware of the ray of technology and human resources monitoring his progress. He was grateful that the ordeal was almost over – both he and Zaf were stiff and tired. He looked forward to his mother's cooking, which he would hopefully be enjoying in a few hours' time, and promised himself once again that he would change his ways. This frightening experience had brought home what type of reward one could expect from a life of crime, and he did not fancy it. He would beg Farooq to take him back, and he would lead an honest life.

The truck had just passed through Ashford when traffic suddenly ground to a halt.  
"Harry!" Ruth shouted and he appeared behind them briskly.  
"What's the problem?"  
"Truck jack-knifed and is blocking the highway," Malcolm explained, zooming out the satellite view to give them a look at the accident a few miles up the road.  
"They're sitting ducks," Ruth said worriedly.  
"Can Adam get to them?" Harry queried and Malcolm looked back along the line of cars. "He's a few miles behind, so it'll take time-" he began, when they noticed the black van pulling up to the barrier on the opposite highway.  
"Oh no." He stabbed at the comms button. "Adam! The truck is under attack!"  
Adam and the SO19 men piled from their vehicles and began to run towards the truck, but they had two miles to cover.  
Harry, Ruth and Malcolm watched in horror as five masked men jumped from the black van and began to spray the cab of the truck with automatic weapons.  
"Oh God, Zaf…" Ruth breathed miserably.  
Two of the attackers briskly cut a hole in the side of the trailer and one of them disappeared inside, and moments later came out with a box in his hand.  
"The trigger," Malcolm said bleakly as the men jumped back in the van and charged away.  
They watched helplessly as their last lead disappeared from view.

 _tbc_


	13. Chapter 13

**PART XIII**

 _Saturday 23 December  
The Grid_

"Adam!"" Harry said urgently. "Get to Zaf!" They saw the running men closing rapidly on the truck as the black van sped in the opposite direction. "Malcolm, keep track of that van and get Jo and Fiona on to it."  
"They're too far away," Malcolm said desperately, "Adam is our only hope."  
They watched anxiously as Adam reached the truck and yanked open the passenger door. His harsh breathing rasped over the comms as he called immediately, "Zaf!"  
They heard a muffled reply and Ruth looked at Harry hopefully.  
"Adam?" Harry demanded impatiently and moments later heard his relieved laugh.  
"He's okay. Only one flesh wound," Adam reported and the relief on the Grid was palpable.  
"Mahmood's dead, though," Adam continued and they all sobered. "I'm going to check on the women."  
"Leave that to Zaf – you get after that van," Harry ordered.  
"Right."

Adam jumped across the barrier and flagged down the first car that approached. He flashed his badge and ordered the bewildered driver to move over, then took off at speed in pursuit of the van.  
"It's just entered Ashford," Malcolm reported, and Harry turned to Ruth. "Get me the Ashford police."  
She grabbed a phone and began to dial, and soon handed him the phone. Harry briefly identified himself and requested them to stop the van.  
"Harry!" Malcolm called and he looked up to see the techie waving at the satellite footage in consternation. "The van just pulled into that underground car park. They could switch to any of a thousand other vehicles, or leave through the shopping centre on foot. There's no way to track them any further." He looked at his colleagues bleakly. "We've lost them."

0o0

 _One hour later_

Juliet paced up and down in Harry's office, who sat slumped behind his desk.  
"This is a disaster," she opined, and he sighed wearily.  
"Yes."  
"You had a chance to confiscate this… trigger in Turkey and you didn't do it, and now we have an operational nuclear device somewhere in London."  
"I'm fully aware of the implications, Juliet," Harry retorted, but he knew she was right. If they failed to stop the attack, the responsibility would rest squarely on his shoulders.  
"What are you going to do now?" she demanded, and he rubbed his brow as he considered their meagre remaining options.  
"Track Nasser and Wasim's every move, and search every place we know they visited since the start of the operation."  
"Nasser has gone to ground since the fiasco in Covent Garden – he's not left his flat since. And I'm sure it's the same with Wasim Butt," Juliet objected and Harry bristled.  
"They have to deliver the device to their target somehow, so one of them will have to move sooner or later," he stated with more confidence than he felt. They had nothing, and he did not know what to do.

Juliet opened her mouth, no doubt to raise further objections, but his door slid open violently and Ruth burst in. They both swung towards her, but in her excitement she didn't notice the strained atmosphere in the office.  
"Harry, I've been thinking," she began, almost tripping over the words in her haste. "Why this elaborate scheme to let the women bring in the bomb parts? Why involve the women at all? They could just have packed the parts in between the fabric, no problem."  
Harry frowned as he tried to keep up with her. "So they could get a hold on influential politicians and businessmen," he reasoned.  
"Yes, but why?"  
He shrugged. "To influence them to support a new government policy towards Syria," he guessed.  
Ruth shook her head. "But Nasser isn't working for the Syrians. He's working for ISIS."  
Harry stared at her as the implications of her words sunk in, and then he smiled warmly. "Find out where each of the men in those photographs is going to be in the next two days, and especially what Christmas services they plan to attend."  
Ruth nodded and sprinted out, and Juliet looked between Harry and the now empty door in confusion.  
"What's going on?" she demanded impatiently.  
"Ruth's just figured out how they are going to get the device delivered." He looked at her triumphantly. "They're going to blackmail one of those influential men into doing it."

0o0

 _14:00_

They were all gathered in the meeting room, Zaf included. His left upper arm was bandaged but otherwise he was unscathed, and Jo had promptly hugged him in relief when he'd stepped onto the Grid earlier. He was tired but had bluntly refused to go home when Harry had instructed him to do so. "You'll need all hands on deck for this," he had argued and Harry had capitulated gladly.  
Ruth handed out papers. "There are twenty-three possibles," she informed them. "The list indicates where all of them plan to attend Christmas services – or at least those who do plan to attend. You'll see that five have indicated that they have no intention of doing so."  
"So that leaves eighteen possible targets to cover," Adam summated, wondering where they'd get the manpower to do so.  
"Actually it's only thirteen," Ruth clarified and Harry looked at her questioningly. "Five of them will attend the same service."  
He sat up, suddenly intrigued. "Where?"  
"St Paul's Cathedral, on Christmas Eve," she said, well aware of the implications.  
Harry smiled grimly. "People, I think we may have a winner."

0o0

 _Late evening_

Ruth looked up to find with some surprise that she was the only one left on the Grid. She looked to Harry's office and the red wall glowed warm in the desk lamp still stubbornly switched on. For a moment she was confused – he was not behind his desk and she thought he may simply have forgotten to switch it off, but then she noticed a slight movement on the sofa. He was seated in one corner of it, an elbow propped on the backrest and his head resting on his hand. Her feet took her to his office almost of their own accord. He had a file propped on his crossed leg and a glass of Scotch in his free hand, and she smiled. It was a sight so familiar that it made her heart ache.  
"Hi," she said and he looked up in surprise.  
"Hi," he responded. They gazed at each other and when she didn't say anything, he roused himself.  
"A drink?" he offered and she nodded. He gestured to the other end of the sofa and she took a seat whilst he poured another Scotch.  
"Big day tomorrow," she commented as he handed her the drink and took his seat again.  
"Yes," he agreed solemnly, and lifted warm brown eyes to her. "But thanks to you we have some hope."  
She accepted the compliment with a slight nod, then took a breath. "They'll crucify you if we fail," she said, finally voicing her fear for him.  
He was quiet for a moment before he said, "Ruth, if we fail tomorrow, we will all be dead and London will be in ruins." He smiled wanly. "My career is the least of our worries."

She conceded the point and looked down at the glass clamped between her hands. The coolness of the crystal felt good against her still tender palms. God, she was tired. It had been a horrid day; she had thought poor Zaf dead for long minutes, and then they lost the trigger. She thought about the young Pakistani and the five women in the back of the truck, all mercilessly gunned down, and felt tears sting her eyes.  
"Hey," Harry said, concerned, and shuffled closer in order to put an arm around her. "We shall overcome," he said with conviction and pressed a kiss into her hair.  
She nodded against his shoulder. "I just… I thought we'd lost Zaf today," she explained and he pulled her tighter against him. There was nothing he could say; this job would always be peppered with horror-filled days, and if she needed a bit of tenderness to cope with that he was more than willing to oblige. He thought it prudent to lift the mood somewhat, though.  
"What are you going to make for Christmas dinner?" he asked, and she lifted her head to look at him.  
"That's quite a change of topic," she commented, but already her mood seemed somewhat brighter.  
"Hm. I like to have something to look forward to," he persisted, and she smiled.  
"Erm, I was thinking of making a roast. I'm no good with turkeys, I'm afraid."  
"With baby potatoes and parsnips?" he asked hopefully, and she laughed.  
"Yes, I can do that."  
He sighed happily. "Oh, I wanted to ask a favour," he said and then hesitated. She looked at him encouragingly and he continued. "I have a dog. She's small, and house-trained, and usually well behaved, and I was wondering if I could bring her along." He added sheepishly, "I don't like to think of her home alone on Christmas."  
She stared at him, once again made aware of the contradictions in his nature. This was the same man who could deal so ruthlessly with those that threatened his beloved realm, who now worried about leaving his dog alone on Christmas for a few hours. "Of course," she said immediately, "there'll be a nice bone for her as well."  
"Thanks," he said and reluctantly let her go. "Time to get some sleep. Come on, I'll give you a lift."

0o0

 _Sunday 24 December  
The Grid_

Malcolm and Colin walked into the meeting room with a briefcase and carefully put it on the table.  
"Right," Malcolm began, "this is as close as we could come to building a replica of the bomb you will be dealing with."  
Harry eyed the suitcase worriedly. "Hopefully without the plutonium," he mumbled, and Malcolm looked at him blankly. "So how does it work?" he asked more loudly, and Colin stepped forward.  
"We think it automatically arms when the briefcase is opened," he began, but his boss immediately interrupted.  
"You _think_?" he demanded, alarmed, and Colin shrugged.  
"We can't know for sure without seeing the real thing," Malcolm came to his fellow techie's aid as Harry continued to look worried.  
"So, as long as the case isn't opened, we're okay?" Adam tried to get the discussion back on point.  
"Er, probably," Malcolm responded with a sideways glance towards Harry. "However, it's possible that they could have built in a remote control override, in which case it'll go off without being opened."  
"So either way we'll have to disarm it as quickly as possible," Adam surmised.  
Harry looked at his watch. "The St Paul's service starts at seven tonight, so you have ten hours to practice." With that he left them to it, and Adam took charge.  
"Okay, Jo and I will be at St Paul's, and Zaf and Fiona take Westminster Abbey. SO19 will cover the other options for tonight." They all nodded and Adam moved closer to the replica bomb. "Let's start. Malcolm, show us what to do."

0o0

 _St Paul's Cathedral  
18:30_

Adam and Jo stood outside the church and monitored all the attendees as they arrived. Thus far three of the men on their list had arrived, but none of them had a briefcase with them. Adam had insisted on searching their cars as well and had found nothing. Now he paced the pavement as he waited for the last two to arrive; a businessman and the Foreign Secretary.  
"There's the businessman," Jo said and pointed down the street. The man was walking towards the church with his family, but none of them were carrying anything. She glanced at Adam. "What if we've got this all wrong? What if they have no intention of targeting a Christmas service?"  
"We haven't," Adam said firmly, refusing to entertain negative thoughts. His earpiece crackled. "Adam, the Foreign Secretary just slipped in by the side door," Malcolm said urgently,"… and he had a briefcase with him."  
The two spooks shared a look and dashed inside, unceremoniously shoving past the well-dressed churchgoers shuffling slowly through the door. Adam bumped into a large woman but didn't stop to apologise, and her admonition of 'rude oaf' followed him inside. He looked around frantically.  
"There he is!" he exclaimed and they clattered down the aisle towards the front, where the Foreign Secretary was in conversation with two other prominent politicians. They drew reproachful looks from everyone already quietly seated.  
"Oh God, he doesn't have it with him anymore," Jo realised, as the man stood casually with both hands in his pockets.  
Back on the Grid Ruth looked over her shoulder at Harry with a worried expression.  
"Adam," he said into the comms, "find that briefcase even if you have to beat it out of him," he ordered calmly.  
Adam skidded to a halt next to the Foreign Secretary and held up his identification. "Adam Carter from the Counter Terrorism Section at MI5," he said with all the authority he could muster. "You brought a briefcase here tonight, Foreign Secretary. If you don't show me right now where you've put it, you will be responsible for the destruction of London."

The gaggle of politicians stared at him in consternation, and he got no reaction from the Foreign Secretary. He lost patience. " _Where is it_?!" he shouted quite loudly, his voice reverberating through the cathedral, and a hush fell over the congregation as they watched the spectacle. In this silence a mobile trilled loudly and Adam said to the Foreign Secretary, "You should get that – it will be my boss."  
The politician lifted his phone to his ear as instructed. "Foreign Secretary, this is Harry Pearce," Harry said. "I know you are being blackmailed and that you are worried about your reputation, but if you do not do as my officer says, you will not be alive to worry about said reputation in the very near future. This is a matter of national security and of the utmost urgency; now _show him the briefcase_."  
The Foreign Secretary turned and pointed to the pulpit. "It's behind there," he said in a shaky voice, and Adam and Jo sprinted to the pulpit.  
"There!" Jo said and pointed to an object hidden in the shadows.  
They approached it cautiously and then both froze.  
"Oh, Christ," Jo muttered. "Harry, he's opened it. It's armed and counting down. There are eight minutes left."

 _tbc_


	14. Chapter 14

**PART XIV**

 _Sunday 24 December  
St Paul's Cathedral_

 _07:55… 07:54… 07:53…_

The two spooks stood rooted to the spot, mesmerised by the red digital figures inexorably counting down, before Adam snapped out of it. "Okay, Jo, just like we practised. Malcolm, talk us through it," he instructed and crouched over the device.  
Panic flooded Jo. "When we practised we could never do it under nine minutes," she reminded Adam, and he responded sharply.  
"We're going to have to do better now. Come _on_!"  
Harry tapped Malcolm on the shoulder, and he took over. "Screw loose the cover plate and remove it gently," he instructed.  
Adam already had the screwdriver in hand and did as instructed. He glanced at Jo, now crouched next to him. Her face was pale and covered in sweat, despite the freezing temperatures. They were going to need her slender fingers to perform a delicate task soon, and her hands would need to be steady. "Take a few deep breaths," he advised, his voice calm, as if there were no urgency. "It's just a training session, and we're trying to beat Zaf and Fi's record." She looked up at him and he gave her his cheeky smile, and was relieved when she smiled back and seemed to rally somewhat. The last screw came out and he quickly lifted the cover.  
Malcolm inhaled sharply. "Gently!" he admonished and Adam froze, but nothing exploded and he completed his task.  
"Cover off." A glance at the clock told him that a minute had passed already.

 _06:50_

"Does it look more or less the same as ours?" Malcolm queried and Adam answered in the affirmative.  
Colin and Malcolm shared a triumphant smile and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank God for that," he mumbled and Ruth whole-heartedly agreed.  
"Right, Jo, your turn. You need to get your fingers underneath the round core and lift it as far as you can, without moving it sideways, so that Adam can get to the wires underneath."  
Jo took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. She had never in her wildest dreams imagined that, only a few months after joining MI5, the fate of the whole of London would rest in her hands. Literally. This had been the step that took the longest during practice, with Jo needing four or five tries to get it right. Today there was no time for a trial run.  
Adam watched her with concern. "Take your time," he advised and she gave him an incredulous look. "Make sure your hands are in perfect position before you begin to lift," he continued, undeterred. "You can do it."  
She nodded, determined, and carefully placed her hands around the steel sphere that held the plutonium. She followed Adam's advice, closed her eyes and ignored the ticking clock, and shifted her hands around by touch alone until she was as comfortable as could be that she had it just right. It was a painstaking process and Adam looked at the clock:

 _04:30_

He bit his tongue and didn't try to hurry her up. This was crucial – they would only get one go at it.  
"Ready," she eventually said, and he shifted his position to get a clearer view beneath her hands once she began to lift.  
"Do it," he instructed, pliers in hand and flat on his stomach next to her.

 _02:58_

She lifted, her eyes still shut, and Adam peered underneath the ball as soon as he was able to.  
"Look for the red wire," Malcolm instructed as Ruth chewed her pen furiously beside him.  
"There is no red wire!" Adam reported, a note of urgency creeping into his voice for the first time.

 _02:06_

Flustered, Malcolm thought rapidly. "Er… can you see the trigger?"  
Adam tilted his head and squinted into the small gap. "Yes."  
"Trace the wire that goes from the trigger to the tamper around the core. That's the one you need to cut."

 _01:24_

There were four wires running out of the trigger, and he traced the first one with the pliers to… the explosives.

 _01:02_

He selected a second wire, sweat running into his eyes, and traced it to… the timer this time.  
"Damn it," he muttered, and selected the third. Beside him Jo's arms were beginning to tremble ever so slightly.

 _00:33_

The third wire only looped back to the trigger itself, so it had to be the fourth.  
He glanced at the timer:

 _00:18_

There was still time to make sure. He carefully traced the wire, for a moment panicking that he had selected one he had already done and that it would not go to the tamper, but thankfully it did.

 _00:08_

 _00:07_

 _00:06_

He positioned the pliers, closed his eyes, and snipped.

 _00:03_

 _00:03_

 _00:03_

Adam stared at the clock until he was sure that his eyes were not deceiving him, that it wasn't merely wishful thinking on his part. "Device disarmed," he finally reported, and rolled onto his back and smiled in relief.  
Jo was still in position, eyes tightly closed, hands clamped around the deadly sphere, her arms now shaking visibly.  
"Jo," he said and touched her arm lightly, and her eyes flew open. "It's over. You did it," he praised warmly, and she looked at the flashing clock in disbelief. Then she slowly put the sphere back in place and collapsed against Adam, laughing hysterically.  
Harry leant heavily on the back of Ruth's chair, his legs suddenly weak. It had been too close for comfort, and he felt the adrenalin course through his veins still.  
Ruth leaned back in her chair, wanting some contact with Harry, and pressed her shoulders against his hands as she joined Jo in soft laughter. She felt Harry's thumb caress her shoulder blade briefly before he straightened and offered Malcolm and Colin each a firm handshake.  
"Well done," he said warmly. "Adam, Joanna, very well done. Would you invite the Foreign Secretary to come and enjoy the minimalist facilities in the basement?"  
He turned to Ruth. "Ask Zaf to pick up Nasser and Wasim to join him," he instructed. "And tell Fiona to organise a raid on the house in Newham and free the remaining women." He was, as always, focussed on every detail until the very last. But before he turned away, just for a second, he let his feelings show for her, let her see his immense relief, his joy at the fact that they had both survived to enjoy their first Christmas together. "And Ruth," he added softly, "well done."

0o0

 **Epilogue**

 _Monday 25 December  
Ruth's house_

Harry arrived punctually at 11:00, Scarlett in tow and two bottles of wine in hand. He was tired – it had taken most of the night to untangle all the threads of the almost catastrophe and to negotiate the political minefield caused by the Foreign Secretary's involvement. But he forgot all about his tiredness when Ruth opened the door and smiled warmly at him, before she was distracted by Scarlett hurling herself at the new person in enthusiastic greeting. She hustled them through to the kitchen, from which a number of enticing aromas emanated and he put the bottles down on the nearest counter. Ruth was talking a mile a minute, buzzing around the kitchen and he watched her indulgently for a while, then snagged her wrist when she next bustled past him and brought her to a stop. Her eyes flew to his and he smiled at her, tugging on her arm until she was standing chest to chest with him.  
"Thank you for having us," he said and before she could respond he lowered his head and kissed her. Properly and ardently, and she responded with enthusiasm, her hands threading into his short hair. They broke apart, both breathless, grinning at each other, too full of emotion to put it into words.  
"You're both very welcome," Ruth belatedly answered, making Harry laugh and lift his hand to cup her face. It fit perfectly, she realised as she nestled her cheek into his palm. He fit here, in her house, where she'd never dreamt he would be. And maybe, just maybe, _they_ fit together after all.

0o0

 _Late afternoon_

Harry was comfortably settled in the corner of her sofa and she was curled against his side. They had eaten well, Harry profuse in his praise for her cooking even though she knew it was nothing out of the ordinary, and he had backed up his words by putting away two healthy plates of food. He had insisted on washing up and now they just lounged, enjoying being together. She was still amazed at how comfortable it was, spending time with him like this, now that she was assured of the depth of his feelings for her. She knew this was not a mere office fling, could read it in the gentle way he handled her, and in the heat in his eyes when she caught him looking at her surreptitiously. He was careful to hide it but she knew it was there – a passion for her lurking below the surface, patiently waiting for the right moment to be unveiled. And that was another thing about him that had surprised her – how patient he was being with her. For a man so used to getting his way, he had shown remarkable restraint. He had never pressured her, had given her space to figure out for herself what she wanted, and she was eternally grateful. He had let her come to him of her own accord, and because of that she felt so much more secure in the relationship than she ever had in any other. She looked up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the depth of her own feelings. He had earlier built a nice big fire and it was crackling cosily in the background. His dog and her cat were curled up in front of it, fast asleep. Harry's gaze was fixed on the window, watching the snowflakes flutter and dance outside, an air of contentment surrounding him.  
She nudged him and his warm brown eyes shifted to her face.  
"A penny for them?" she asked, and he smiled indulgently.  
"I was thinking how much better this Christmas has been than the one I usually have," he explained.  
"What do you normally do?" she asked curiously, aware that she was prying. She would not be offended if he didn't want to answer, but he seemed not to mind.  
"Sleep late, take Scarlett for a walk if the weather isn't too beastly, watch bad television and drink too much," he responded without any hint of self-pity.  
She held him a little tighter. "You never spend Christmas with your children?"  
He sighed softly. "No. They're with their mother. And that's how it should be – she was always there for them. I can't exactly say the same." This time there was self-reproach in his voice, and there was nothing she could say to that. It was what it was.  
"Catherine calls me, though, the last few years," he confided with a crooked smile, and she could sense his joy at this improvement.  
"I'm glad," she murmured.  
"Mm. So am I."  
They lapsed into silence again and his eye fell on her small Christmas tree. She followed his gaze and realised suddenly that there were no gifts underneath.  
"I'm sorry," she said, "it's been so hectic, I never got a chance to get you a gift."  
"Nor did I," he responded, unperturbed.  
"But it would have been nice, our first Christmas together…" she persisted wistfully, and he turned his head so he could look into her eyes.  
"Ruth, you've already given me the only gift I've ever wanted," he said meaningfully. And there it was again, carefully hidden in the depths of his eyes – that smouldering desire.  
It ignited something deep in the pit of her stomach, and she sat up and said daringly, "Then perhaps it is time for you to unwrap it."

She stood and held out her hand, and he sat immobile, caught off-guard by her boldness, until he had fully processed her words. The fire in his eyes ignited and he stood as well, pressing against her and catching her lips in a searing kiss. She could feel him harden instantly against her hip, and it was a heady sensation, this physical evidence of the effect she had on him. It took all her self-control to break the kiss and lead him up the stairs to her bedroom, where he reverently undressed her and laid her down on the bed. He worshipped every inch of her body with lips and hands until she was begging him for more, before he finally joined with her. They moved together, skin on skin, until she tumbled over the edge and called out his name. He followed soon after and she held him close, not caring that he was crushing her, until he gathered himself and lifted onto his elbows. He brushed the hair from her face and rubbed his nose against hers, then kissed her gently. When he pulled back he smiled, a beaming, boyish smile that made his eyes dance, and she somehow knew that _this_ was who he really was. Not the forbidding and sometimes merciless presence on the Grid, or the self-assured wielder of power in the political corridors, but this gentle and joyful incarnation was closest to his true self that he kept so carefully hidden away. He had let her see it, and it was the best Christmas present she could ever have wished for.

And perhaps that had been his intention all along, because he looked into her eyes and murmured, "Merry Christmas, Ruth."

 _Fin_

 _Thank you for reading._

 _Merry Christmas_


End file.
